


Hunting for Faith

by perunamuusa, riseofthefallenone



Series: Hunting for Faith [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Dean Winchester, Angel Sam Winchester, Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Human Balthazar, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Priest Castiel, Slow Burn, art included, reverse!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 270,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perunamuusa/pseuds/perunamuusa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseofthefallenone/pseuds/riseofthefallenone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts a few days earlier.</p><p>Castiel first notices it in the middle of the night when the dreams of fire and screams have kept him awake. He’s kneeling before the altar, praying, when the glass in the windows start to shake, the very air vibrating around him. Castiel is on his feet and reaching for the gun tucked into the back of his pants as the shutters over the windows start to rattle.</p><p>Written by: <a href="http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com">riseofthefallenone</a><br/>Artist and co-author: <a href="http://pappcave.tumblr.com">pappcave</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Amulet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Pappcave's Reverse!Verse](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/Papp%27s-reverse%21verse). Papp has written a few chapters for it already (found at the link above) - mostly about Castiel's past. 
> 
> And he was nice enough to do extra art for this fic too!

It starts a few days earlier.

Castiel first notices it in the middle of the night when the dreams of fire and screams have kept him awake. He’s kneeling before the altar, praying, when the glass in the windows start to shake, the very air vibrating around him. Castiel is on his feet and reaching for the gun tucked into the back of his pants as the shutters over the windows start to rattle.

The church doors are locked, there are devil’s traps under the carpet in front of every entrance, and all the baseboards are filled with salt. No demon should be able to enter, but the monsters of the world are always finding new ways in – just like how hunters are always finding new ways to keep them out.

Then the sound starts. It’s a high pitched whine that doesn’t even last a whole second – but it still stabs into his head like no headache he’s ever known – before it’s gone. The air stops hurting and the windows stop shaking. Castiel continues to turn in a circle, pointing his gun in all directions as he slowly makes his way down the center aisle between the pews to the vestibule doors. They’re just as locked as the ones on the other side should be and he’s not going to open them to double check – who knows what could be on the other side.

His cell phone is back in the rectory and that’s where Castiel goes. The rectory is more protected than the Church itself. No one but those who know about the darker side of life goes back there and it’s no one that Castiel doesn’t trust _implicitly_. He locks all the doors and sequesters himself in his bedroom, specifically he sits right next to the chest of weapons he pulled from under the bed.

The phone picks up on the fifth ring with an unhappy groan on the other end. “It is four in the bloody morning, Cassie. You better have a good reason for this.”

“Are you on a hunt?” Castiel keeps his eyes on the door as he loads his shotgun with rock-salt shells, the phone pinned between ear and shoulder.

Balthazar sighs heavily. “I was. Just finished it a few hours ago.”

“Then you’re not busy.” Castiel puts the shotgun down and checks by touch the magazines for his handgun. “I need your expertise. What makes a high pitched ringing sound while shaking the very air and windows?”

“Nothing.”

“You didn’t even think about it.”

“Because there’s nothing. You do know that you’re the one I call for answers, right? _You’re_ the one with the bestiary in that big, beautiful brain of yours.” Balthazar yawns loudly and then his voice changes, concern edging it. “Have you been sleeping?”

Castiel frowns and snaps a magazine into his back up gun. “I sleep at least four nights a week.”

“That’s not enough, Cassie.”

“Don’t call me that.” It’s an automatic response whenever he notices it. “It’s Castiel or Father Collins, you know that.”

“Whatever you say, Cassie.” Balthazar yawns again, a laugh echoing around it. “Whatever you think is out there is probably just in your head. You’re not sleeping enough, so get some sleep before that flock of yours starts to suspect.”

After the call ends, Castiel doesn’t sleep. He stays seated on his bed with the shotgun laid over his lap and a machete within reach. Nothing happens until his alarm goes off. His parish is a small one, catering to more people from Flanagan than it does from Pontiac. It’s a rundown little Church and he’s the only one here, and he likes it that way.

The day goes as planned. He performs a baptism before morning mass and tends the gardens around the Church until afternoon mass. His evening is consumed by paperwork and he only remembers to eat when he gets a text message from Balthazar reminding him to take care of himself and – this part is written in capitals – _get some sleep_.

Castiel’s supper consists of a tuna sandwich and homemade vegetable soup. He sends pictures of his meal to Balthazar – one picture is of him actually eating the sandwich – so he’ll stop badgering him. He tries sleeping again, this time with a knife under his pillow and all the doors locked. The next thing Castiel knows, it’s morning and the night has passed without incident.

After morning mass and just before lunch, Castiel is in the secret basement under the rectory looking up information for another hunter. He’s almost certain of the answer, but he doesn’t want to give it over without double checking – especially when lives hang in the balance.

The basement is a simple fifteen by fifteen room, with two standing shelves – like a library – in the middle of the room. The walls are lined with more shelves and filled with artifacts Balthazar and other hunters have collected in their travels and need to store in a safe place. There is one locked cabinet, tucked away in a corner and covered with a sheet stitched with red thread in an intricate warding design (Castiel stitched it himself). It’s there that the most dangerous of items are kept. Castiel wears the key to the cabinet on a chain around his neck.

Nothing but a few bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling light the room. When that _something_ happens again, it begins with the radio upstairs in his kitchen. Castiel drops the book and is halfway up the stairs, gun already drawn, when the rattling starts. It’s like the whole rectory is trembling on its foundations and Castiel backs down the stairs slowly, gun trained on the cracked open door to the kitchen. The basement has its own extremely well stocked armory and it’s the best place for him to take a stand.

Then the lights start to flicker. Castiel has seen this happen during the few hunts he’s been on with Balthazar where demons were involved. He gets out his phone and hits speed dial. If the call goes through, Castiel isn’t aware of it. That high pitched whine starts again, coming through the phone before it makes the very air tremble around him. The sound digs into his head, clawing at his ears and it makes his vision swim. His knees give out and his gun and phone clatter across the floor. Castiel tries covering his ears but it doesn’t make the sound stop.

This time it lasts for several seconds, or possibly longer. Castiel wakes with his cheek on the floor and his ears still ringing. He barely hears the distant, worried voice. It’s coming from his phone and after a quick check he determines that there is no blood in his ear, his nose or his eyes. There’s just a headache pounding between his temples. Castiel gropes across the floor for his phone, pulling it to him as he gets to his knees.

“Castiel Collins, I swear to God if I drive out there and I _don’t_ find your bloody big ass dead on the floor, I will kill you myself!”

He sits back against one of the bookshelves, pinching at the bridge of his nose. Balthazar’s voice is not helping his headache. “I do not have a big ass and neither am I dead.”

It takes a good few minutes of swearing before Balthazar is able to form proper sentences. “Where the _hell_ have you been? I’ve been talking to dead air for five minutes!”

“It happened again.” Castiel looks around the room. Nothing has been changed. Even the door at the top of the stairs isn’t any more open than it was before. “The noise and the shaking. It lasted longer this time and I passed out.”

Balthazar is silent for a moment. “Did you –”

“Yes. I had supper, I slept all night, and I had some toast for breakfast.” He gets up to find his gun, slipping it into the back of his pants and tucking his shirt around it again. “This time the lights were flickering too. Demonic activity?”

“It could be.” Balthazar sighs and makes a humming sound – his thinking noise. “I’m coming to visit. I’ll be there in a day or so. If it happens again, call me immediately. Shut the Church down and stay safe.”

Castiel cleans up the book and turns off the light, going back upstairs slowly and cautiously. “I’m not shutting the Church, Balthazar. Not during business hours – and I’m always available at the rectory. The parishioners know that. It’s necessary.”

“Cassie –”

“ _Castiel_. I have a funeral to officiate in an hour and if you’re going to insist that I eat lunch too, then I need to –” He peeks through into the kitchen before going through the door. “Oh.”

Balthazar’s voice turns sharp, on guard. “What?”

“My windows.”

“What happened?”

Castiel steps carefully through the kitchen, glass crunching under his shoes. “They’re broken. All of them.” A sudden thought occurs to him and he sucks in a sharp breath. “The Church –!”

He runs to the corridor that leads from his office to the church. It’s a short hallway that anyone who enters the Church can come down to find him to make arrangements for anything that will require his presence. No one is in the nave when Castiel comes in from the southern transept and not a single piece of glass – stained or otherwise – is shattered here. It’s a blessing.

Although the Church would repay to have the windows fixed, Castiel is still the one who maintains the rectory. He’s going to have to dip into his savings to fix the windows there. It’s just more for him to do and he doesn’t want to waste his money on having someone else install the windows when it’s something that he can easily do himself.

“The Church is untouched.”

Balthazar sighs heavily. “Cassie, my beloved brother, I really don’t care about the bloody Church. But this just means that something is targeting you and the area around you specifically. I’m going to break as many speed limits as I can to get to you. I have to pack up and gas up now – Stay safe, Cassie.”

He doesn’t get another word in before Balthazar hangs up. Castiel frowns at his phone, but he doesn’t put it away. Instead, he goes back to the rectory and uses the internet to look up the nearest company that offers window services. He cleans up the glass while he makes the call – explaining that it was an act of vandalism and he need’s replacement windows as soon as possible. The call ends with them promising to send someone out within a day to take measurements and check the frames.

Castiel forgoes lunch to tape cut open garbage bags over all the windows. The rectory is mostly clean, the glass swept into piles out of the way, by the time he should get ready for the funeral. He takes five minutes to make himself look presentable – washing his face and changing into his vestments before he leaves the rectory. The basement door gets locked on his way back to the Church to start welcoming the funeral attendees.

The entire service is a blur. Castiel is on autopilot from the moment he steps into the Church until he walks away from the gathering around the grave later. It’s only another few hours until afternoon mass and he spends the time until then cleaning the entire rectory and making sure that the damage to the windows didn’t affect any of the wards.

The next time the shaking happens, it’s the next day and Castiel has just locked the external and the vestibule doors. He’s in the process of collecting anything in the pews and arranging the complimentary Bibles to sit properly in the stands on the back of the pews. It starts with the windows and the shutters again, everything shaking violently in their frames. Castiel is on guard and gets the shotgun he hid in the pulpit immediately. He hesitates to get his phone. The last time he’d used it, the noise had started from that.

But the noise never happens.

This time, the doors rattle against their locks and Castiel turns his gun to them, backing up across the room until he can put the pews between him and the door. It’s not much of a defense, but it’s something. All the lights start flickering and Castiel takes his attention off the doors long enough to glance up at them, watching the filaments dim and brighten erratically.

Instead of the whine, there’s a roaring sound outside. As if the wind has picked up and that’s why the shutters are banging against the windows. Castiel should feel worried, he should feel nervous or something besides this _calm_ settling through him.

The outside doors bang open and Castiel moves his finger from alongside the barrels to curl it over the trigger. The first few light bulbs closest to the door shatter in an explosion of sparks the moment the vestibule doors burst inward, wood splinters flying. There’s one figure – one _man_ – standing in the entrance. The popping lights make it hard for Castiel to see much, but the man walks in without care for any of the wards or traps laid under the carpet or in the wood of the ceiling. More light bulbs explode the further into the nave he walks.

“A priest with a gun – now that’s a first for me.”

Castiel doesn’t wait to hear anything else. He empties the barrels and the rock salt does nothing. It doesn’t even make the man stagger back a step. Castiel drops the shotgun and pulls his handgun from the back of his pants. He empties the clip and he knows every shot hits him in the chest. A double tap in the heart and a spray in the gut.  Balthazar may not have taken him on very many hunts – and he’s nowhere near as much of a hunter as his brother – but at least he made sure that Castiel knew how to aim a gun.

The man – not much taller than Castiel – is wearing a business suit, jacket open and his hands in his pockets. He scowls down at his chest and the new holes scattered across it. “That’s not cool. You didn’t even buy me dinner first.”

He has another magazine snapped into place before the man – who is, undoubtedly, _more_ than just a _man_ – finishes speaking. This time he starts muttering exorcism spells while he takes aim for the head. This creature is touching at the bullet wounds in his chest – each one suspiciously bloodless. What stays Castiel’s hand is the rosary wrapped around and hanging from the creature’s wrist.

“Yeah, you can just stop that right now.” He looks up, green eyes flashing in the burst of the last light bulb. It’s only the candles – the ones that haven’t blown out yet – that keep the room lit. “No little human knows the incantation that would banish me from this vessel. And I’m not here to hurt you, so put the gun down before I make you.”

Castiel doesn’t lower his gun. “What are you?”

“Badass.” The creature winks, his grin lopsided. “Sorry, Padre, but I’m not here for small talk. You have something I want, but all your wards are messing with my instruments. Point me in the direction of the hocus pocus and I’ll be on my way.”

“What are you?” He repeats. “You’re no demon.”

“I should be insulted that you’d even think I was. No, Padre, I’m what demons piss their beds about.” The creature walks further into the Church and Castiel tracks the movement with his gun. “My brother says he tracked the amulet to here. He hasn’t found his true vessel yet and that means I’m the one that’s gotta do his dirty work. So, if you’d be so kind, give it up.”

There are a number of amulets in the basement, but Castiel isn’t going to hand over anything to something unknown. “Tell me what you are and I might consider giving you what you’re asking for.”

The creature walks past Castiel. It goes straight up to the altar and makes the sign of the cross before kissing the rosary curled over its fingers. Castiel has never seen a monster do anything even remotely religious. He’s never even _heard_ of one doing something like that and it sounds like something a hunter would definitely share.

“Hope you’re ready for the fireworks, Padre.” The creature turns, both hands tucked in his pockets again. “Best way to tell you what I am is to show you. Just be happy I’m not breaking out of this vessel like a birthday cake – you’d lose those pretty blues of yours.”

Castiel barely refrains from rolling his eyes. As it stands, he’s far more distracted by lightning flashes where lightning shouldn’t be, casting massive shadows against the walls above the altar. His mouth goes dry and his hands start to shake. The shadows unfold and there is only one thing they could be – _wings_.

Impossible.

“Angels don’t exist.” Castiel whispers, lowering his gun without realizing it.

The creature tilts its head, amusement written all over its lightly freckled face. “Is that really something you should be saying with a collar around your throat in a House of God?”

“I believe in angels. I believe in God. But that doesn’t mean they _exist_.” He thumbs the safety back on, hands shaking almost too much to do that. “If God truly existed, he wouldn’t have let my father and friends die twenty years ago. If God and his angels existed, monsters and demons wouldn’t be raping the world in the dark. If God and his angels existed, they would be doing _something_ about the demons breaking the seals of Lucifer’s cage.”

Something like surprise flickers over the creatures face and its eyebrows go up an inch. “Oh-hoh. So you know about that, do you?”

“The orphanage I grew up in - the location, the fire, the number of bodies, the bloody symbols I saw painted on the walls – it was the first seal.” Castiel doesn’t put the gun away – despite it having proven useless against this creature claiming to be an _angel_ of all things. “We stumbled across that information in texts not long after we found out that the things that go bump in the night are real.”

“Good, that makes this easier.” The angel rolls his shoulders and steps away from the altar. “Show me to the amulet and I promise I might even be nice enough to tell you what I need it for.”

Castiel frowns at him. “You haven’t even told me your name.”

“Neither have you, Padre.” He shrugs, turning away to look around. Castiel can’t help but look at his back, checking for any sign of the shadows he’d seen on the walls. The angel slants a grin over his shoulder. “You’re not going to be able to see them. I told you, if I gave you the full monty I’d burn those pretty eyes right out of your pretty head.”

“What is a ‘full monty’?”

The angel sighs and shakes his head, turning away toward the southern transept. “It’s a sad state of affairs when an angel knows references and slang better than a human. Seems like I’ve been paying closer attention to humanity than you have.” He raises a hand and gestures for Castiel to follow. “It’s this way right? There’s a blank space in my senses somewhere in this direction.”

“I know what is necessary to survive.” Castiel follows after him, displeasure twisting in his gut. He’s not willing to put his back to this so-called angel, but he doesn’t find him completely untrustworthy. As much as Castiel may not understand people, sometimes his gut is fairly accurate in who to trust and who not to – although he has had his mistakes in the past. “And my name is Castiel Collins.”

“Pleasure, I’m sure.” He takes the short corridor to the rectory like he’s done it a million times before, not even stopping to glance around the office on his way into the kitchen. The angel stops in the kitchen for a moment and looks around, taking in the state of the windows. “Oh, yeah – I suppose I should apologize for the windows, huh?”

He doesn’t look like he’s apologetic, more like he’s confused. Castiel assumes that his senses get less accurate the closer he gets to wherever the amulet is. His suspicions are confirmed when the angel starts moving again.

Castiel reaches out and grabs his arm without thinking, stopping him from walking past the basement door. “That was _you_?”

The angel turns to face him and Castiel drops his hand to his side again. “Side effect of my true voice, unfortunately. I told you, I’m badass – and you can call me Dean.”

His frown only deepens while he gets the basement key from the ring in his pocket. “That’s not a very angelic name.”

“It’s certainly no _Castiel_ , I’ll give you that.” Dean shrugs, leaning his shoulder against the wall while Castiel unlocks the door. “It’s to protect you more than it is me. The less you know about me, the better.”

Castiel can practically _feel_ his stomach sour. Maybe trusting his gut wasn’t the best of ideas at this point. An angel with things to hide can’t possibly be a good thing – but according to the Bible, angels are warriors. Maybe this _Dean_ is on a mission of God? If he is, who is Castiel – a Father of the Church, no less – to stand in his way?

He pulls the door open and gestures for Dean to go through first. Despite his inner turmoil, Castiel can’t resist asking. “And why is that?”

“The less, the better – remember?” Dean flicks the lights on the moment he hits the bottom step. He stays there, one hand still tucked in his pocket as he looks around the room slowly. “It’s gotta be in there.” Of course he points to the covered cabinet. Dean walks over and pulls the sheet off in one smooth tug, holding it up with both hands. “This is handy – you make it?”

“I did.” Castiel still has the gun in one hand, the other is fishing the chain and the key to the cabinet out from under his collar.

“Crafty. I like it.” Dean folds the sheet and lays it gently on another shelf before crouching in front of the cabinet. He waves his hand over the lock and Castiel can hear the click from where he’s standing at the base of the stairs. “I could’ve gotten the basement door too if you’d let me.” He grins over his shoulder and makes a ‘come hither’ gesture that Castiel enjoys about as much as he’s enjoyed the rest of this brief interaction. “All I need you for is to open what the amulet is _in_. Specifically, this box right here.”

Castiel leans over Dean’s shoulder, looking at the rune carved box he’s pointing at. It’s the one box in the entire cabinet that he has no idea what lays inside. “How are you sure that’s it? What’s in there?”

“Because I can read the runes on the box and they’re as good as a neon sign. It’s something my brother and I really, _really,_ need. If we survive this, I’ll even bring it back.” Dean gestures at the box again. “C’mon, Cas, I don’t have all day. Sammy’s finding his vessel and we got a whole ton of stuff we’ve gotta do before the others catch wind of what we’re up to.”

Warning tingles all down the back of his neck. “You’re a rogue angel, aren’t you?” He’ll let the shortening of his name slide for now.

“No, not quite. At least not the Lucifer kind of rogue, if that’s what you’re thinking. Sam and me, we’re doing God’s work.” Dean gestures at the box again. “So could you hurry this up? Time is of the essence, blahblahblah.”

Castiel steps back. Everything he knows is telling him that he shouldn’t help an angel sneaking around behind the backs of others angels. But his gut is still telling him that he can _trust_ Dean – the one who won’t even give him his real name. “Why don’t you get it yourself if it’s right in front of you?”

“Can’t touch it. All those fancy carvings adds up to angel warding. It’s probably something you’ve never seen before – which would explain why you’ve never opened it. Didn’t wanna mess with something you didn’t know, huh?”

“How did you know that?”

“It’s the only thing in here that’s covered in dust and the lock is rusted shut. I made an educated guess.” Dean stands up and steps out of the way. “Tick tock, Cas. Let’s do this or are you waiting for me to say ‘please’? Please, Cas, _please_.”

Castiel frowns at the continued use of a nickname he hasn’t authorized. He narrows his eyes at Dean, but his gut continues to tell him that Dean is okay. The internal conflict might be the kick off he needs to start going gray. He huffs and tucks the gun in the back of his pants. That little action has Dean grinning, bright and _pleased_.

“I need my tool box. I’ll need a screwdriver at the least to break this open.” He takes the box from the shelf, using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the dust from it. When he looks up at a rustling sound, Dean is gone. Castiel glances around the room once – Dean’s name dying on his lips when he blinks and Dean is there again, a screwdriver in hand.

“Here.”

He accepts the tool cautiously, placing the box down on a shelf. “How did you –?”

“Wings, Cas. Anywhere, any when. Perks of the halo crowd.” Dean tilts his head toward the box, his hands back in his pockets. “If you could…?”

Castiel shoves the end of the screwdriver into the ancient lock and forces it down sharply. The lid pops easily and Dean immediately presses up next to him, leaning heavily into his side and shoulder to look down at the box while Castiel lifts the lid. The inside of the box is padded with cushions and nestled in the center, sitting on a coil of string, is an ugly little amulet – a gold face with big ears and horns.

Dean is practically vibrating with excitement next to him and he jostles Castiel’s shoulder. “Take it out!”

He lifts the amulet out of the box by the string and Dean immediately holds his hand out for it. Castiel drops it into his palm and Dean closes his fingers around it, his whole body sagging with a whole sense of _relief_.

“What is it…?” Castiel asks cautiously, knowing full well that Dean won’t give him an answer.

“The less, the better.” Dean looks up at him, his grin even brighter than before, but his eyes are soft. “Thanks, Cas. This means a lot to me and Sammy and if we succeed, it’s going to mean we’ll have a way to stop the demons from breaking the seals.”

Dean leans forward quickly, cupping one side of Castiel’s face before he even has the chance to react. Castiel tries to lean away, tries to pull back, but Dean’s other hand is already at his waist and Castiel _can’t_ move. It’s a light touch but it’s holding him in place and he can barely step back an inch let alone pull away when Dean presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

He steps away as quickly as he’d stepped in. “Consider that little blessing as thanks – and a word of warning, angel proof the Church and the rectory. Use those carvings and size doesn’t matter.”

And then he’s gone and Castiel is left staring at an empty wall with the sound of wing beats dying in the air. He opens and closes his mouth several times, trying to think of something to say. But there are no words and no one to speak them to. Castiel closes the cabinet, locks it, and throws the sheet over it again. It may not ward off angels, but it should still work for everything else.

He carries the broken box with him up to the kitchen and he takes it with him to shut the doors to the Church. They can’t be locked now, not when the handles are a splintered mess. He’ll have to call someone to come fix that too, and first he’s going to have to check the Church’s bank account to ensure there will be enough to pay for it. Depending on that, he might only be able to afford the materials and he’s going to have to do the work himself.

It’s only after two hours of lying awake in bed that Castiel realizes that he hasn’t even called Balthazar yet. He should have called him the moment the rattling started. Balthazar should have been there on the phone for the entire time that Dean was here. But Castiel can’t even bring himself to get the phone out of his pocket now. He’d rather just lay face down on the bed and try and think – but not think – about how an _angel of the Lord_ had blown into _his_ Church to take an amulet without explaining why and – and it is making Castiel’s head hurt to think about it.

Castiel has always been a man of God. It’s how the Father at the orphanage raised him and how he has always been. But everything that he’s learned, that he’s _seen_ – it conflicted with his beliefs to the point that he believed _in_ them but didn’t exactly believe they existed. He’s having trouble believing that Dean is an angel – a borderline rogue one at that. For all Castiel knows, he could have just helped an angel in league with the demons that he and Balthazar have been working to _stop_.

No, this is something that he shouldn’t tell Balthazar right now. He’s going to be here tomorrow anyways. If he doesn’t figure out something happened just from the state of the Church and the rectory, he’ll at least notice the seals and symbols that Castiel is going to be trying to hide around the walls. A Church protected from angels – that’s something he’s never heard of before. But Dean’s expression had turned serious for that split second before he’d disappeared – more serious than he’d been the entire (albeit short) time that he’d been here.

And that is enough for Castiel to worry. It’s enough for him to get out of bed and get his tools and a ladder from the shed. Castiel spends the night up in the exposed and intricately carved rafters of the Church, straddling beams to carve the symbols from the box into the shadowed spaces at the joints by the wall and at the peak of the ceiling. Carving – in his opinion – is better than drawing or painting when it comes to symbols. Ink and paint can fade.

He’s still up there, on the other end of the Church from where he started, when Balthazar pushes open the doors carefully. The hinges squeak and Castiel reminds himself to oil them soon. Balthazar enters slowly, gun first and Castiel sighs. He’d berate his brother for doing that because there could have been parishioners here – but the vestibule doors would have been open had there been.

“Cassie?”

“Up here.” He kicks one leg back and forth to get his attention. “I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

Balthazar tucks the gun away and gestures back at the doors. “What the hell happened here?”

“I had a visitor last night.” Castiel shimmies along the beam to put the next symbol by the next joint. He’s got three more places to put them and he’s not sure how many he should do before it’s effective, but he’s doing all the symbols on the box and there are quite a few of them.

“A good or bad visitor?” The ladder rattles and Castiel looks down to see Balthazar moving it across the room to where he will be getting down.

He sighs and brushes curls of wood and sawdust from his sleeves. “I have yet to decide.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Balthazar voices takes a disapproving tone to it and Castiel knows it’s a warning – if he doesn’t start giving a proper answer soon, he’s going to end up suffering through a rant about _why_ they’re not supposed to keep secrets from each other.

“It means I’m going to wait until you’re seated and have some form of alcohol in you before I even attempt to explain what you’re likely not going to believe.” Castiel twists the tool in his hand to add the last little symbol around this particular carving. It takes a little maneuvering to climb over the main beam to get to the other side of the rafters where he starts the next carving. “I’m still having trouble believing it myself.”

“Cassie, what are you doing?”

“ _Castiel_. I’m making the Church safe. Make yourself useful and go get a broom to clean up. Morning mass is going to be in a few hours.”

“You didn’t sleep, did you?”

“Be useful. Clean. And I might even refrain from commenting about your ridiculous shirts.”

Balthazar groans and Castiel is certain that his muttering contains a few dozen words that should not be said in a Holy House. “There’s nothing wrong with my v-necks.”

Sweeping up keeps him busier longer than it takes Castiel to finish. He puts away his tools and the ladder, taking a moment to prepare some sandwiches. On his way back, he grabs a bottle of wine and a bottle of water. Balthazar will happily drink from the bottle itself.

“Drinking and eating in the Church, Cassie?” He looks up from sweeping the last of the mess into a corner. “That’s a new one.”

“It’s safest to talk in here and we can eat and drink in the confessionals so no one who arrives will see us.” Castiel gestures for him to follow to the north transept and the two booths there. He gives him one sandwich and the bottle of wine before stepping into his side of the confessional and lifting the divider that hides the grate.

Balthazar takes longer to settle into the other side. “Don’t you hide anything from me, Cassie. I want the whole story. Safe from _what_? What were you doing in the rafters?”

Castiel tells him around bites of his sandwich and Balthazar doesn’t say anything until he’s done. Even then he doesn’t say anything, but Castiel can hear him drinking from the wine bottle in long draughts. He shouldn’t be enabling his brother’s drinking habits, but he knows Balthazar would have found the wine on his own after his recounting of last night.

“An angel.” Balthazar says flatly. “An angel named Dean busted your bloody doors down for an amulet and took off after admitting that he’s ‘not quite a rogue’ but he’s basically up to no good. And you _trusted him_.”

“I emptied a shotgun _and_ a full magazine into him and the only thing that actually affected him was that box. He couldn’t even touch what was in it until I’d picked it up.” Castiel leans back and looks up at the simple roof of the confessional. “I’ve had all night to think about it while I was working and if Dean meant me harm, he could have killed me right after I gave him the amulet. Besides, my uneasy feeling was more over what he was doing, not Dean himself. I could trust Dean, it’s just his secret mission that’s bothering me the most.”

“You _like_ him.”

“Impossible. I knew him for all of ten minutes and he was extremely smug for the majority of it.” He frowns and stands. “It was like dealing with a more attractive you.”

Balthazar makes an indignant noise and scrambles to get out of the confessional after him. They make plans for the rest of the day – Balthazar gets the job of ‘angel proofing’ the basement of the rectory and dealing with the people who show up to take measurements for the windows. Castiel goes about business as usual and refuses to let Balthazar put the symbols anywhere in the rest of the rectory. It’s not like he won’t be able to get into the basement or the Church immediately should anything bad happen – but Castiel wants at least some part of what he considers to be his home open to Dean if he ever does come back.

Dean did say he might return the amulet when his job is done. Not that Castiel is expecting it to happen. But it _might_.  And it does happen a few months later. It’s the middle of the night and Castiel finished the paperwork he let slide during a busy week of weddings and baptisms half an hour ago. Fresh from the shower and towel drying his hair in the kitchen, he’s preparing a glass of milk before he goes to bed. Just something to put in his stomach.

A sense of warning tingles at the base of his skull and Castiel doesn’t know why until he turns around. He drops the near empty jug of milk in surprise and it bounces and rolls away across the floor. Castiel doesn’t think twice. He pulls the towel from over his shoulders and crosses the kitchen to Dean and the young man he’s holding up by an arm over his shoulder. The young man has blood all over his belly and there’s light seeping between his fingers where he has his hand pressed over it, quickly replaced with Castiel’s towel.

Dean doesn’t look any better, blood running down the side of his face from a cut over his temple. There’s blood on his lips and dripping from his nose. His suit has seen better days. It’s ripped in places and there’s blood soaked into his tie and the white of his dress shirt - it’s untucked and the top few buttons are undone, the tie loose and Castiel can see the string of the amulet around his neck under the collar of his shirt.

Castiel helps Dean get the young man into one of the two chairs at his tiny kitchen table. His hair is longer than Dean’s, flopping over his forehead like Castiel has seen the college students wear. He can’t be more than in his early twenties. From the worry on Dean’s face, Castiel makes an educated guess. This man is another vessel and there’s an angel inside, likely his brother – Sam – that he’d mentioned.

Dean’s hands are covered in blood and he puts it to use, painting a symbol and a circle around it on the wall. He doesn’t look relaxed until he’s finished. His jaw goes tight when he turns around to look at Sam before glancing up at Castiel, his mouth pinching and he actually looks _apologetic_.

“Cas – We – I – I didn’t know where else to go.”


	2. The Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are only a few questions that have been plaguing him since the night Dean swept through here a few months ago. “Why did you need that amulet?”
> 
> Dean’s expression slides into that blank look again and he turns his head to watch Sam. “It’s the only thing that will help me find someone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Pappcave's Reverse!Verse](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/Papp%27s-reverse%21verse). Papp has written a few things for it already (found at the link above) - part of Castiel's past included. 
> 
> And he was nice enough to do extra art for this fic too! Go give him some love!
> 
>  
> 
> **Updates the 15th and 30th of every month until the story is complete. And no, I'm sorry, I don't know how long it will be. For chapter statuses and information, please[check here.](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hunting+for+faith)**

“Cas – We – I – I didn’t know where else to go.”

There is so much apology written in the lines of Dean’s face that Castiel doesn’t even stop to think about the consequences of helping them. They may be rogue angels, and ones who arrived unbidden to his home – covered in blood and bruises and clearly running from something that was powerful enough to hurt _angels_ , on top of that – but he’s taken an oath to offer sanctuary to those who seek it. Even if Dean hasn’t said those words specifically, Castiel knows that is what they need and that is what they’ll get.

Castiel looks down at the towel quickly turning red under his hand before he looks back to Dean. “Just tell me what I need to do to help.” He has no idea what to do to help angels. Will Sam heal on his own or does he require something more? Will he need stitches? Disinfectant? Castiel doesn’t know and he waits for Dean to tell him.

Dean actually looks surprised, staring at him with wide eyes and parted lips. He moves his jaw a few times as if he’s going to speak, but nothing comes out. Some of the tension releases from his shoulders and what could be a grateful smile ghosts the corners of his mouth before his attention turns to the angel currently bleeding all over Castiel’s kitchen chair.

“We just need to stop the bleeding and get him some rest. Sam will heal just fine on his own after that.”

“I can stitch it –” Castiel starts and Dean interrupts, shaking his head.

“No, that’s not necessary. All we really need to do is bandage it.”

“My first aid kit is under the bathroom sink.” Castiel gestures over his shoulder toward the hall around the corner. “The last door on the right.”

This time Dean goes on foot instead of using his wings like he did the last time they met. Castiel doesn’t pay any attention to the sounds of him rummaging around under the sink. He devotes his attention to the wounded angel under his hands. Sam is pale faced and shaking, not evening opening his eyes when Castiel pulls the towel away and carefully untucks his shirt. He undoes Sam’s tie and unbuttons the shirt, gently peeling the fabric away from the horizontal slash across his stomach.

When Dean returns with the kit, Castiel has him help hold Sam up while he removes his suit jacket and shirt. They bandage Sam up in silence. Even if it’s not entirely necessary, Castiel can’t help but clean the wound first. The bleeding has slowed considerably, but it’s still a nasty looking injury and he really wishes Dean would let him stitch it. That would at least help stem the bleeding. Instead, he lays a heavy layer of gauze pads over the gash and wraps Sam’s waist with a roll of bandages.

“If he needs to rest, the only place to do that is in my bed.” Castiel says over his shoulder as he washes his hands of the blood in the sink afterward. “Help me move him there.”

Asking for help is entirely unnecessary. Dean bridal lifts Sam as if he weighs nothing and follows Castiel to his bedroom at the very beginning of the hall, nearly right off the kitchen. The bed is directly opposite the door and as soon as Castiel clears it of the book he’d left out to read before sleeping, Dean lays Sam on it. He leaves Dean to get Sam comfortable while he goes to the closet in the corner.

Even if Sam’s vessel looks younger than Castiel, he’s bigger in frame and height. Dean, however, is closer to Castiel’s build. He might be a little thicker in the chest and waist, but they’re almost the same height. The only clothes that Castiel has that might fit Sam are a pair of sweatpants that were always a little too big on him and one of his gardening shirts. His plain clothes that he usually only wears to town – or even one of his gardening shirts – should fit Dean just fine.

“I hope neither of you hates plaid.” He grabs two flannel shirts, the sweatpants and a pair of jeans with holes in the knees. When he turns around, Dean is giving him an almost amused look. Castiel frowns in confusion. “What?”

“We don’t need other clothes.” Dean is practically grinning at him – _wryly_ , in fact. “Don’t worry about it, we’ve got the clothes thing covered.”

“Both your suits are unsalvageable. Sam’s is covered in blood and shredded in places. Yours is no better.” Castiel gestures at the tears in Dean’s suit and the blood on his face. “And you still need to get cleaned up. You’re welcome to the shower if you need it. I’m afraid the tub isn’t nearly big enough for a grown man to take a bath.”

Dean shakes his head and spreads his arms, turning to face Castiel fully. “I said don’t worry about it.”

Castiel is about to object – even opening his mouth for a retort – but between one blink and the next, the cuts on Dean’s face are gone, the rips in his clothing are repaired and even the blood on his face has vanished completely. Dean’s grin grows and he shoves his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to regard what must be unabashed surprise all over Castiel’s face.

“Told you.” He shrugs and turns back to Sam after a moment.

It takes another minute or so before Castiel manages to collect himself enough to speak again. “Is that another perk of the halo crowd?”

Dean looks up in surprise from brushing hair off of Sam’s forehead. Clearly he didn’t expect Castiel to remember word for word something he said months ago. “Yeah, it is.”

Castiel turns around to put back the jeans and one of the shirt. “Why don’t you heal Sam and fix his clothes like you did for yourself? Or are you going to tell me again that the less I know, the better?”

“I’m tempted.” Dean shrugs again, leaning over Sam to adjust the pillow.

“Don’t be.” Castiel closes the closet door and lays the shirt and sweatpants over the arm of the plush chair at the end of his bed. “If you’re going to recuperate here, there are conditions.” He waits for Dean to look up at him and he keeps his expression hard to let Dean know he’s serious. “I want to know what’s going on. I want to know why you were both hurt and why you’re considered not-quite-rogue angels. If you’re going to stay, you’ll tell me that or I’ll carve those angel warding symbols into the rest of the rectory and you’ll have no choice but to leave.”

Dean stands up and straightens his shoulders. His face has gone blank in a neutral stare that is both unnerving and oddly frightening. It sends a shiver down Castiel’s spine and he’s tempted to run from what feels like a static charge filling the air.

“You’re really going to threaten an _angel_ , Padre?” Dean’s voice is barely above a whisper, low and dangerous and Castiel tries not to let any reaction show on his face even as fear trips along his bones.

It takes quite a lot of his willpower to keep from flinching away when Dean approaches. He has barely an inch on Castiel in height, but it feels like he’s towering over him when he comes to a stop directly in front of him. It doesn’t help that Castiel is barefoot and Dean is wearing oxfords.

He curls his fingers into fists at his side and doesn’t look away. “If whatever could hurt an _angel_ is after you, you might have led it straight to me. You’re the one who brought me into this, Dean. The very least you can do is give me _information_.”

Having a staring contest with a celestial being wearing the meat suit of a man in what Castiel estimates is likely his mid-twenties is not exactly how he planned on spending his evening. After his glass of milk – now warm on the counter – he was going to relax in his reading chair at the end of his bed and read for an hour before sleeping. Now Castiel has blood congealing on his kitchen wall and floor, an unconscious angel in his bed, and another who is quite possibly on the verge of smiting him where he stands. It’s hard to tell when Dean’s expression is so very _blank_.

When Dean sighs and steps away, he shoves a hand through his hair. The simple gesture, even though it’s not his own, releases some of the tension gripping Castiel’s body. He relaxes more as the rosary wrapped around Dean’s wrist clinks when the bead knock together while he moves. “Fine, Cas. You’ve got a point and you’ve got balls for standing up to an angel like that.” He tilts another wry grin at him. “I won’t tell you everything, but I can answer a few questions.”

“Why won’t you tell me everything?”

“I gotta keep some of the mystery alive, don’t I?” Dean’s grin falls a little when he turns back to the bed. “My mojo heals me up just fine because it’s kind of like camouflage. The less I stand out, the better. It’s self preservation. But to use it to heal Sammy – using my grace like that would set off a kind of power flare big enough for heaven to pick up. The symbol I painted in the kitchen keeps anything from being able to follow our – our –” He scratches the back of his neck and looks up at the ceiling while he thinks for the word. “The closest thing I can call it is our ‘scent’. Like a trail we leave when we flap ourselves from point A to point B. I could hop from here to the other side of the world and an angel would still be able to follow that trail through space and time. Does that make sense?”

Castiel nods and then gestures at Sam. “If that’s the case, why hasn’t Sam’s ‘mojo’ – as you say – healed him or fixed his clothes yet? Was it because the wound was done by angels?”

Dean glances at him again, this time with an expression Castiel doesn’t recognize. Perhaps he wasn’t expecting Castiel to pick up on the fact that the sigil Dean had painted was to cover his tracks so that something like _angels_ wouldn’t be able to follow them. In either case, Dean sighs and runs his hand through his hair again, shoulders slumping in resignation.

“Yeah. It takes longer for us to heal and recover from an angel attack than we would if – for example – you shot us with a shotgun.”

“If you’re going to make further references to that, would you feel better if I apologized?” Castiel barely refrains from rolling his eyes at the amused grin Dean gives him for that. Instead, he starts undoing the tight black laces of Sam’s shoes. “If I’m correct in my understanding, Sam’s ‘mojo’ is going to work on healing him before it will fix his clothes. In that case, he can wear my clean clothing until he’s all better.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t stop Castiel from pulling off Sam’s shoes and socks, or from undoing his belt and removing his bloodstained pants. He only helps when it comes to putting the pants on, but they do forgo the shirt, leaving it laying at the end of the bed. Dean doesn’t want it in the way when he checks on Sam’s wounds. With any luck, Sam won’t bleed through the bandages and onto Castiel’s only set of bedding. He doesn’t mind the clothes so much, but the bedding would be more annoying to take to town in the beaten up old car that the Church provided for him. It would be difficult to clean and he simply does not have the money to buy another set.

Once Dean is satisfied that Sam is comfortable and secure in the bed, Castiel turns to him and gestures at the door. “There is still more that I would like to talk to you about.”

“Fine, but I want to keep an eye on Sammy.”

He follows Castiel back into the kitchen and they drag the chairs across the kitchen from in front of the back door to in front of his bedroom. Dean takes the chair covered with the blood, cleaning it with a touch and shrugging when Castiel gives him a curious look. Apparently removing bloodstains is an easy enough task that heaven won’t notice him using that. He does the same for the bloodied towel that Castiel tosses to him and that’s one item from his to-do list checked off.

Castiel puts the milk away, placing the glass from the counter into the fridge with the jug he rescues from where it rolled on the floor. Dean has the chairs set up so they face each other, his chair directly in front of the bedroom door so all he needs to do is turn his head to see Sam. He’s sitting back with his arms crossed and his legs unashamedly spread, one knee bouncing. When Castiel sits, he leans forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together between them.

There’s silence for quite a few minutes before Dean looks back at Castiel, a frown pulling his eyebrows together. “Well, what do you want to know?”

There are only a few questions that have been plaguing him since the night Dean swept through here a few months ago. “Why did you need that amulet?”

Dean’s expression slides into that blank look again and he turns his head to watch Sam. “It’s the only thing that will help me find someone.”

“Find who?”

“Next question.”

Castiel frowns and Dean shakes his head, not even looking back at him. “I’m not going to tell you everything, C as. I’ll only tell you what won’t hurt you.”

He huffs unhappily and looks down at his hands, thinking about his next question carefully. “Why were other angels trying to kill you and Sam?”

“Because they’re dicks.” Dean snorts, looking back at Castiel with a small smirk on his lips. “We’re doing what you’ve been trying to do, only better because we have connections you don’t.”

Another frown pulls at Castiel’s lips and he sits back, folding his arms over his chest. “You’re hunting?”

“We’re stopping the seals from breaking.”

Now _that_ surprises him, and it confuses him. “But why would angels try and stop you from doing that? Shouldn’t they be helping you?”

Dean shrugs again and looks away. “Like I said, they’re dicks. Witches were working with demons to open a seal and we showed up to stop it – except there were angels waiting and they ambushed us before we could stop anything.”

Castiel’s frown gets deeper. “That doesn’t explain _why_ your own kin are stopping you from doing what they should be doing too. Last time you were here, you implied that no one knows what you and Sam are up to – that you’re undercover, so to speak.”

“We are. We didn’t stick around long enough for them to get a good enough read on us to know who we are and as far as I can tell, they only know half of what we’re up to.”

“They don’t know that you’re looking for someone. And that’s your true goal, isn’t it? The person you’re looking for is your main goal and you’re just stopping the seals because it’s convenient.”

Dean looks back at him again, a calculating look in his eyes as he glances Castiel over before he nods once, slowly. When Castiel opens his mouth to ask another question, Dean lifts his hand to cut him off. “Don’t bother asking why we’re undercover. I’m not going to answer that.”

They sit in silence again, staring at one another until Sam makes a noise and Dean gets up to check on him. Castiel sighs and rubs a hand over his face. It’s late, pushing near midnight by now, and he needs to sleep. There isn’t anything besides morning and afternoon mass scheduled for tomorrow, but his vegetable garden needs pruning and several things are ready to be harvested.

He’ll have to take to town the excess and leave them with the people who run the farmer’s market there. It’s just a small one, but one of the stall owner’s is a devoted patron and she sells Castiel’s vegetables for him. It’s at least a little extra money in his pocket and he doesn’t mind the work. Father Christopher taught him how to garden – vegetables and flowers alike – and tending to them is like keeping a part of his memory alive.

Thinking about what he has to do tomorrow helps to ease his mind and his nerves. Castiel needs some semblance of normalcy if Dean and Sam – a pair of _angels_ – are going to be staying here until they’ve recuperated completely. He continues to make a list in his head of what he’ll have to do tomorrow.

After tending the garden and going to town, he also has to clean the Church before and after the masses and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with Dean and Sam in the meantime. They’re not going to be able to leave the rectory since the Church is warded against them. He doesn’t even know how long Sam is going to take to heal and whether or not they’ll be heading out the moment he’s well.

Speaking of, Castiel realizes that he’s gone and given his bed away to Sam now and he doesn’t own a couch or a spare bed. It looks like tonight he’ll be sleeping on one of the spare cots kept in the Church basement for whenever one of the homeless wanders out this far and needs a place to spend a cold night, or if a family is in need of refuge should they fall on hard times. It’s never happened in Castiel’s time here, but the cots are there nonetheless and that’s what Balthazar sleeps on whenever he visits for more than a day. Castiel would happily build an extension to the rectory – a second floor, perhaps – to have a spare bedroom for Balthazar to sleep in. It’s only at his brother’s insistence that he hasn’t yet.

When Dean comes back, Castiel stands up and drags his chair back to the table. As expected, Dean follows with the other chair. “I don’t know what use I could be to you, but if there’s anything I could do to help, all you have to do is ask.”

Castiel is expecting the derisive snort that Dean does nothing to hide, but it doesn’t mean that he likes it. He turns around and raises an eyebrow in question. “Yes?”

“No offense, Cas, but you’re a _human_. Aside from giving us a place to rest when we’re beat up, there’s not much that you _can_ do. You’ve known about the seals for how many years and you haven’t be able to do squat about it, right? You just don’t have the knowhow, the man power, or the right equipment to help us and that’s fine.” Dean shrugs and shoves the chair back into place. “You’re already doing all that you can do, so you can just leave the heavy lifting to Sam and me.”

Somewhere in there Dean probably meant to include a compliment. But all Castiel sees is a thinly veiled insult and it makes him frown again. Does Dean truly see him as inferior? Is that how all angels see humans? Dean has already revealed enough about angels just with himself to make Castiel question all that he knows about Biblical Theology. But knowing _Dean_ sees him as nothing more than a housekeeper to tend a B&B for them is – it hurts.

It’s stiffly, almost mechanically, that he asks Dean if he needs a cot too. Dean has a moment where he looks surprised and glances over Castiel with a worried bend to his eyebrows before he shakes his head. Castiel says nothing else as he leaves the kitchen through the door to his office. Once he’s in the church, he knows that Dean can’t follow him here and he slumps onto one of the pews, holding his head in his hands while he takes a moment to _think_.

There are two angels in his home, one of them bleeding and unconscious in his bed. The other just basically said that Castiel’s only use is to give them a place to rest and that – that makes him _angry_. He has more uses than that. He’s been the source of information for the hunter network since before Bobby Singer died.

He would be more if his duties as a priest hadn’t kept him from being able to accept the other roles Bobby had, like playing the heads of certain government branches. Someone else had picked up that mantle after Bobby’s death and Castiel is grateful for it. Answering the emails, text messages and phone calls is bothersome enough when it’s just from Balthazar. But also having to deal with everyone else takes up a good deal of his free time on most days. Castiel is just lucky that he’s memorized most of the answers and very rarely has to actually go and look anything up when someone calls. He can give them their answer immediately and get back to whatever he happened to be doing at the time. And he never answers the phone while he’s holding mass or within earshot of any of the parishioners.

Thinking about mass just makes Castiel realize how late it is and how tire he is. Dragging himself up from the pew and through the vestibule doors to the basement in the corner takes more energy than he’s willing to admit. Having to drag one of the cots back the entire way takes even more out of him.

Dean is leaning against the door frame to his bedroom when Castiel carries the cot into the kitchen. He looks back over his shoulder and another confused, contemplative look fixes itself on his face. Castiel ignores it and unlocks the basement doors. If he’s going to sleep in a house with two angels he barely trusts, it’s going to be in the one room that they can’t get into – no matter how much his gut is telling him that he _can_ and _should_ trust them.

It’s only after he’s set up the cot on the other side of the standing shelves that he realizes he doesn’t have another blanket or pillow to use. He didn’t grab the Church spares from the other basement and he doesn’t have any over here. Balthazar always uses the sleeping bag and pillow that he keeps in his car for the odd nights that he has to camp out or sleep in the backseat.

He grumbles and goes back up the stairs, only to find Dean waiting for him with a blanket and pillow folded in his hands. It’s a set of bedding that he’s never seen before. Castiel narrows his eyes at them. “Where did you get those?”

“Borrowed them from a hotel. I can return them when Sam’s all better.” Dean shrugs and holds them out. “You didn’t have any when you went down and I didn’t see anything last time I was in there, so I thought you might need them. Humans are big about the comfort, right?”

Castiel accepts the folded blanket and the pillow carefully. “If you’re in hiding, you shouldn’t have left.”

Dean shrugs again and gestures at the bloody symbol on the wall. “That’s hiding us whenever I pop in or out. I told you there’s nothing to worry about. Do you need your alarm clock or anything else?”

Briefly Castiel thinks of asking for an apology. He may not be an angel, but he’s been a hunter for nearly fifteen years and he knows what he’s doing. Although Dean’s point was valid – there are many things he can do that Castiel can’t – it was still hurtful and unnecessary. And as sweet as it is that Dean went and got him bedding to sleep with, he’s just rubbing it in.

He doesn’t bother. “All I need is my phone.”

Dean is in and out of the bedroom quickly, Castiel’s phone and charger in his hand when he returns. The moment he takes it, Castiel remembers that he hasn’t called Balthazar yet about Dean showing up for a second time and he had promised him that he would if it ever happened again. He has the phone open and his thumb is hovering over the speed dial button when Dean covers his hand.

“Who are you calling?”

Castiel frowns at Dean’s fingers before looking up at him. “My brother.”

“Don’t.” Dean shakes his head and squeezes Castiel’s hand. “He doesn’t need to know about us.”

“He already knows.” Castiel pulls his hand sharply out from under Dean’s. “I told him everything from the first time you were here and all the times you tried to speak to me before that. And I promised if I ever heard from you again that I would call him.”

“Oh?” Dean raises one eyebrow and his lips quirk in another smirk. “Did I leave enough of an impression on you that you had to write home to the family about me? I’m honoured, Cas.” When Castiel doesn’t respond with anything more than a blank stare, Dean sighs and rolls his eyes. “Fine, call him. Just don’t mention anything about angels. They might be able to pick up on the call and track us here.”

Castiel narrows his eyes, glancing at his phone and back to Dean. “How?”

“Radio waves.” He shrugs and turns back toward the bedroom, leaning around the corner of the hall to get a good look through the door at Sam.

No further explanation seems forthcoming and Castiel is getting very tired of frowning, especially at the back of Dean’s head. That seems to be all that he does around Dean and he’s fairly certain that it isn’t a good thing. It doesn’t bode well for this unsteady relationship they’ve entered into – if you can even call it that. Perhaps it would be better to call it a companionship? An acquaintanceship? He doesn’t know. But _friendship_ doesn’t fit and relationship is something that Castiel thinks requires deeper emotions.

He hits the speed dial and listens to the phone ring a few times before Balthazar answers. “For God’s sake, Cassie, you _know_ I’m in Maine right now. I’m a whole bloody hour ahead of you and sleep is a precious commodity. You better have a good reason for waking me.”

Castiel only needs one word. “Dean.”

Dean glances back at the mention of his name, eyebrow raised and curiosity etched into his face. The line is silent before there is a flurry of sound. “Cassie, don’t let him do anything to you. Stay in the basement or the Church, I’m on my way and can be there in a day.”

Now both of Dean’s eyebrows are raised and he’s fully facing Castiel. “Don’t let me do anything to you?” Castiel isn’t surprised to find his hearing is good enough to hear what Balthazar said. A slow grin is spreading over his lips and Castiel doesn’t like it.

He likes it even less when Dean darts forward with speed that shouldn’t be surprising considering what he is. Castiel makes a startled sound and he can hear Balthazar’s worried shouts but they’re just noise when the phone is now much too far from his ear to make out the words. Dean has it in his hand and pressed against his ear and the grin he’s giving Castiel is downright ludicrous.

“Hey, big brother.” Dean all but _drawls_ into the phone. “Dropping in isn’t necessary. I’ll take _really_ good care of Cas, don’t you worry about that.” He adds a wink at the end that Balthazar can’t see and Castiel doesn’t understand the point of it.

“Dean, give it back.” He drops the blanket and pillow, not caring where they fall and he reaches for the phone. Dean steps back and turns away, holding out his hand and pushing Castiel back by the shoulder. “Dean, stop it. Give me my phone back!”

Castiel tries to brush Dean’s hand away, but it’s like trying to move a steel beam. His fingers are fixed over Castiel’s shoulder and nothing moves his arm no matter how hard he pushes at it or tries to reach for his phone. Dean is leaning just out of reach and Castiel’s fingers are just barely brushing his chin let alone the opposite ear where he’s holding the phone.

“Dean!”

He’s clearly not listening, eyes unfocused and looking off into a distance Castiel can’t see. “Uh huh. Uh huh. Y’know, for the brother of a priest you sure have one hell of a dirty mouth. Oooo, I’m shaking in my shoes. Hold on, I think Cas wants to talk to you again.”

Dean holds the phone out and Castiel snatches it back, putting it to his ear just in time to hear Balthazar nearly _screech_ something that sounds like “Keep your paws off my baby brother!”

The line goes dead before Castiel has the chance to say anything and he stares at his phone for a moment before he shuts it and turns his most potent glare on Dean. “Why did you do that?”

“For fun?” Dean shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets again, leaning his shoulder against the small partition of wall between the basement door and the corner of the hall. “Your brother seems pretty protective. He was really easy to rile up.”

“That wasn’t nice.” Castiel bends over and picks up the blanket, the pillow having already fallen most of the ways down the stairs. “Balthazar sounded very upset and he already doesn’t like you because of what happened here before you first arrived.”

Dean isn’t looking at him when Castiel stands again. “Yeah, sorry about that, I guess. I’d hoped that since you were such a devoted priest, and a hunter too, that you’d be able to hear me. I know it can be tough for regular people, but at least I stopped as soon as I realized it wasn’t working.”

The clock in Castiel’s office chimes midnight, the twelve tones fading into the silence of the room afterward until Dean tilts his head toward the basement stairs. “You better get to sleep. You’ll be safe down there and I’ll hold the fort up here until Sam is better.”

Castiel feels that same anger bubble in his chest as it did before. Dean is treating him like he’s fragile, something that can be easily broken and he’s _not_. He can keep himself safe just fine without having Dean watching over the rectory. Tonight will mark the first time in his life that he’s actually had angels watching over him, but it’s not something that he _needs_. He’s lived his whole life without it and he’s done just fine on his own.

He manages at least a semi-polite goodnight before he goes downstairs, slamming the door shut behind him. It’s rude since Dean is a guest, but he’s also a mostly _unwanted_ guest. Maybe not so much ‘unwanted’ as he is uninvited. But a guest he is nonetheless. And it bothers Castiel that Dean’s cavalier yet still annoyingly cautious attitude even manages to bother him in the in first place. It’s been years since anyone has managed to get under Castiel’s skin and he’s forgotten how – how – _annoying_ it is.

When he tucks into the bed, his pants and shirt folded neatly on one of the shelves, Castiel tries not to notice how nice the pillow feels and how comfortable the blanket is. He has half of it folded under him, a barrier between the scratchy fabric of the cot itself and the rest is protection against the cold of the basement. It’s a much nicer blanket and pillow than the one that he has in his bedroom and he nearly laments that he’ll have to return them – until he remembers that Dean as good as _stole_ them from a hotel and even then it’s hard not to sink into the comfort and fall asleep faster than he has in a very long time, especially considering everything that happened tonight.

In the morning, Castiel wakes up to Dean shouting his name from the top of the stairs. “Cas! Cas, your alarm clock won’t shut the hell up! It’s been going off for the last ten minutes. Cas, wake up!”

Castiel groans and barely resists the urge to pull the blanket over his head. It’s too early for him to have to deal with Dean and Sam and everything else that goes along with them. Not to mention that at some point today Balthazar is going to be showing up and he hopes that Dean will be gone by then. He doesn’t want to have the both of them in the same room at the same time. It was bad enough when Balthazar was just on the phone. Castiel can’t even begin to imagine what it will be like when they’re face to face.

With the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his clothing tucked under his arm, Castiel takes on the perilous task of climbing the stairs without coffee in his system. He nearly trips at least four times and he doesn’t care about the confused and almost worried look Dean gives him when he finally reaches the top of the stairs. His clothing gets dumped on the kitchen table as he passes it and Castiel bangs around in the kitchen for a few minutes, clutching the blanket together at his chest while he goes about getting the coffee maker filled and turned on.

“Cas, you okay?”

Castiel shushes him, waving a hand over his shoulder and grumbling the words nearly unintelligibly. “Coffee first. Annoying angels later.”

Dean makes a noise that might be scandalized, but Castiel can’t really tell. He can barely see, barely think. He needs coffee and then he’ll be able to deal with everything about Dean. While the coffee brews, Castiel rescues his clothes from the table and heads to the washroom. By the time the pot dings, he’s mostly dressed and he looks marginally respectable – though he has terrible bedhead and he hasn’t shaved yet. He’s still missing his socks and shoes, and his shirt isn’t done up, but at least he has pants on.

“Don’t stare.” Castiel mumbles as he slouches past Dean, shoving the blanket into his arms. He gets a clean mug from the cupboard, fills it nearly to the brim with piping hot, pitch black coffee, and barely blows on it before he takes a sip. _Nirvana_.

He downs a whole cup before he’s even willing to turn around and face the world. Or more specifically, face the angel standing by the basement door with the most confused expression he’s had since Castiel met him. Dean isn’t wearing his suit jacket right now, and the blanket is overflowing in his arms. He looks like an out of place bellhop standing in Castiel’s kitchen and he doesn’t seem to know where to look – certainly not at him.

Castiel takes a sip of his second cup before he speaks. “What is the matter, Dean?”

“Nothing.” He licks his lips and glances at Castiel once and then away again, looking toward the bedroom. “Your alarm was going off, so I figured that you were supposed to be getting up around now or something.”

After another long sip of his coffee, the caffeine working its magic in his veins, Castiel nods. “Thank you. I do have a lot to do today and Balthazar will be here by this afternoon if he drove through the night.” He finishes his cup and pours another. “How long will it take Sam to heal?”

Dean shrugs and makes a show of folding the blanket, again not looking at Castiel. “A day, two, three? I don’t know. It’s pretty bad. He stopped bleeding during the night and now he’s just... Sleeping? Resting? I’m not sure.” He looks toward the bedroom again and it’s genuine worry lining his face.

Castiel sighs, of course this means that they’re going to be around for a while. Which means that Balthazar is going to stick around too. And Castiel isn’t going to tell them to leave. They’re angels and they’re serving God - no matter how little of their actual mission that Castiel knows of. And even then, they’re seeking sanctuary. Castiel can’t turn them out.

He already knows that there’s nothing more that he can do for Sam. Dean as good as said it last night. Actually, Castiel thinks Dean _did_ say that specifically. And as much as he wants to stop everything and keep watch over Sam, Dean has that fairly covered - especially if he already stayed up all to do it.

After a little thinking, Castiel decides that if he alters any part of his routine - like shutting the Church or not taking the vegetables to the market, it could tip off the parishioners that something is going on. Someone might investigate and that could lead to the wrong people finding out that Dean and Sam are here. That’s something that he can’t risk.

For a lack of anything better to do with his hands, Castiel puts his mug down and busies himself with finding a pan and getting out eggs, bacon, cheese and various vegetables to dice into omelets. After a moment of thought, he gets out a small pot and the bag of oatmeal. He may not be able to help them directly, but he can at least make them something to eat. There aren’t many things that he can do for angels, but he can do _this_ and give help where he can.

While the stove heats up, Castiel dices the vegetables and gestures at the coffee pot. “Help yourself if you want any.” He’s had his minimum amount for the morning and the rest of the pot is now up for grabs. “If you need sugar or milk, I can get it for you.”

Dean doesn’t answer and Castiel turns around to find him gone. He leaves the counter long enough to confirm that Dean is back in the bedroom and fussing over his brother. Sam looks like he’s awake, but he’s staring blankly at the ceiling. It doesn’t seem to bother Dean as he fixes the other blanket over him.

Castiel returns to cooking breakfast, doing up his shirt when he starts frying the bacon. Normally he wouldn’t eat so much first thing in the morning, but he has guests that he needs to care for and he might as well make himself some too while he’s at it.

It’s several minutes later, while he’s arranging the food on plates, that a body presses against his shoulder and side as a light breath brushes over his neck unexpectedly. Castiel tenses. He knows that it’s Dean, he can smell it. Dean has a unique scent, like that electric tingle in the air before a storm but darker, more _dangerous_.

“Why’d you make so much? Expecting company?”

He sidesteps away from Dean and his lack of personal space, taking one of the plates with him and leaving the other and the bowl on the counter. Castiel pauses only to grab a fork from the utensil drawer on his way to the table. “It’s for you and Sam. The oatmeal will be easier on his stomach. If he’s healing, he’ll need to keep his energy up and he should have something to eat.”

Castiel only looks up once he’s seated at the table. Dean’s expression is twisted in a look Castiel doesn’t quite understand. It could be a combination of amusement and gratitude. “What?”

Dean shrugs and looks at him, his hands in his pockets again. He doesn’t seem as awkward as he did when Castiel had been getting his coffee earlier. Now he’s perfectly okay looking directly at him and fixing that cocky smirk on his lips again. “Angels don’t need to eat.”

An embarrassed blush immediately starts to climb Castiel’s neck. He can feel it heating his skin and he tries to will it away. It never even occurred to him that angels wouldn’t need to eat. He’s seen all manner of creatures – even demons – eat to maintain the illusion that they’re human. Of course it was only natural for him to assume that angels would be the same but he should have asked first and then he could have avoided making the mistake in the first place.

“Oh.” Castiel quickly looks down at his own food, distracting himself with using the edge of his fork to cut the omelet and hoping that none of his blush reaches his face. “Leave it then. I’ll save it for later.”

The clatter of the plate and bowl on the table makes him look up again. Dean settles in the chair opposite him, a fork in his hand. Castiel opens his mouth to make a comment about unnecessary actions, but Dean waves him off and folds an entire piece of bacon into his mouth. “Don’t make that face. I said that we don’t _need_ to, not that we _can’t_.”

“I wasn’t making any face –” Castiel stops when Dean’s expression turns to one of surprise and he freezes mid-chew. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

“This –” Dean gestures down at his plate before cutting off a section of the omelet and shoving that in his mouth too. His eyes go wider and he’s barely done that mouthful before he takes a large bite of the toast. He chews, eyes fluttering shut and something altogether _terrifying_ spirals from Castiel’s chest to his gut at the look of pure _rapture_ on Dean’s face.

“Holy shit, Cas.” He manages after swallowing thickly. “Food is _awesome_. Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this the last time I was here?” Dean leans over his plate and starts eating enthusiastically, if not a little inappropriately.

The question seems rhetorical and Castiel doesn’t answer, slowly starting to eat his own meal while watching with growing horror as Dean decimates the food on his plate and starts shoveling the oatmeal into his mouth when he’s done that. It’s nearly enough to make Castiel lose his appetite.

Dean places the bowl on his plate and muffles a belch while he still has oatmeal in his mouth. That’s the final straw for Castiel and he pushes his plate away, a few strips of bacon and one corner of his omelet still left.

“You gonna finish that?” Dean asks after swallowing, eyeing his plate.

“Help yourself.” Castiel mumbles, barely finished speaking before Dean reaches across the table and pulls the plate to him.

“What other foods do you have?” He asks around a mouthful of bacon. “There’s more to try, right? I want to try it all.”

Castiel pauses as he stands, his hand closed around the handle of his coffee mug. Dean seems more comfortable here with every passing moment, and of course there are plenty of other things that he could make. He may not actually eat as often as he should, but Castiel enjoys cooking. It’s part of the reason he grows his own vegetables and has very few pre-packaged meals. But preparing more food for Dean simply because he wants to try more kinds of food - it goes _beyond_ being a hospitable host.

“I could –” He stops and looks around the room once, as if anything there might answer the question for him.  “We can make more food later. I have things to do today.”

And first things first, he needs to tend the garden and take the produce that he picks into the market before they open. Then he has to rush back and prepare for mass. He hadn’t thought about that when he was getting dressed earlier, and that just goes to show that he shouldn’t do anything before he gets his first cup of coffee in the morning. Or perhaps it shows just how much Dean and Sam’s presence has disrupted his daily life already. But Castiel doesn’t want to let them being here bother him. If he lets it bother him, then he’ll likely end up adjusting to having them around and it will be an even more difficult when they eventually do leave.

“What do you have to do?” Dean doesn’t get up until Castiel takes the dishes back to the sink and starts running the water to wash them. “Is it something I can do that will help get things done faster so we can make more food?”

Castiel arranges the dish rack so the drain is over the edge of the sink and he starts scrubbing the plates and pans clean with a soaped sponge. While he washes them, he lists for Dean all the things he has to do today, starting with the garden and ending with the general time when Balthazar is supposed to arrive. Dean spends most of explanation by the bedroom door, watching Sam.

It’s as Castiel is finishing with the dishes that Dean comes over and leans back against the counter beside him, standing closer than Castiel would personally prefer. “Well, I don’t know much about gardening. That’s more Joshua’s thing, if you know what I mean.” Castiel doesn’t, but he keeps his mouth closed. “But I can help you get the things to town faster than a car ever could. Just come get me when you’re ready to go.”

“You’re going to leave Sam?” He glances over in time to see Dean’s expression grow hard and his eyes flicker toward the bedroom door.

“There’s nothing that I can really do for him.” Dean mumbles, looking down at his feet before glancing at Cas. “Just watching him lay there is - I’m going out of my mind, Cas. I could heal him, but if I did then I’d put all of us - you included - in danger. But not being able to help him is -” He looks away again and now it’s _pain_ Castiel reads in the lines of his body.

“I’m sure that Sam appreciates that you’re here for him.” Castiel turns his attention back to the dishes, aware that Dean is watching him again. “If your mission is as important as you say it is, I believe that Sam won’t mind that you can’t do more right now. He’s your brother, he’ll understand.”

Dean is quiet until Castiel is finished with the last dish and he’s drying his hands. He still doesn’t say anything when he follows Castiel back into the bedroom, sitting in the reading chair at the end of the bed while he gets his gardening clothes from the closet. Castiel stops by Sam’s side and lays a hand over his forehead, checking his temperature. It seems normal, but Castiel doesn’t really know what normal is for an angel and it feels like a foolish thing to do. He can’t help it.

“If there’s anything that you need, I’ll be in the garden.” Castiel says softly, speaking to Sam but to Dean too as he looks up at him. “It’ll leave the back door open, so you can just call for me if you need to.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean’s smile is small, gentle and genuine.

It strikes a chord in Castiel and he’s not exactly sure why. It’s not the first that he’s seen Dean smile, but it seems… the only word he can think of is _fond_. Castiel ruminates on it while he changes and spends the next hour on his hands and knees in what qualifies as his backyard. It’s while he’s pulling on his gloves that another word to describe it comes to him – _honest._

Weeding and watering the garden does eventually move his thoughts onto other things. Specifically, it moves it to the health of his plants and at least for a little while Castiel can pretend that he hasn’t been unexpectedly dragged into something bigger than he knows. The plants and vegetables are all growing nicely and Castiel is pleased with every single one that he picks for himself and to take to market. He doesn’t keep very many for himself, since he doesn’t eat much but he does keep more than usual, since he’ll now be feeding Dean too.  

Castiel separates what he picks into two boxes - one for what he’ll keep and the other for what he’ll take to town. Whenever he feels a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, he looks up to see Dean leaning in the doorway and watching him, an unreadable expression on his face. Dean never stays for long, leaving after a few minutes to go check on Sam. And he’s always gone longer than he stays. Castiel gets annoyed by the interrupting presence around the tenth time that Dean leans against the frame, hands in his pockets and his loose tie drifting over his shirt in the breeze.

“If you’re just going to stand there, you could help me. Otherwise, stay inside and watch over Sam.” Castiel says over his shoulder, kneeling by the pumpkin vine to check each one before moving on to pick some of the tomatoes.

“And miss out on the lovely view? I don’t think so.”

“What view? There’s only the garden and fields from where you’re standing.” Castiel stands up and brushes the dirt from his knees. He picks up one of the boxes and Dean only comes outside to grab the other box for him when Castiel attempts to pick it up too.

“It wasn’t the scenery I was talking about, Padre.” Dean grins and even winks at him when Castiel looks up to thank him.

He frowns in confusion. “What else is there to look at?”

Dean’s grin falls slightly and he looks at Castiel steadily for a few moments before he laughs, shaking his head. “Never mind, Cas.”

Castiel doesn’t understand and he doesn’t like not understanding something. Was Dean talking about looking at the sky? Does looking at the sky remind him of heaven? That just makes Castiel wonder if Dean misses his home. If he’s been undercover for months, then he probably hasn’t returned there since maybe before Castiel first met him.

Thinking of Dean and Sam having to stay away from their home makes it feel like his chest is constricting in on itself. It makes him _unhappy_. Castiel knows what it’s like to consider a place a home and not being able to return to it. He never considered anywhere before the rectory as his home after the orphanage. The other orphanages and the seminary, even the brief months at Bobby’s house, they just didn’t feel home to him.

The rectory is the first place that he’s really made his own. It’s where Balthazar comes to rest and get a decent home cooked meal. And it’s the closest thing to a home that Balthazar has outside of his car. Castiel is more than happy to give that kind of peace to him.

Even if Dean is sometimes annoying and Castiel is still struggling to adjust to having someone who isn’t quite a stranger but still fairly unknown to him in his home, Castiel hopes that Dean will be able to return home soon. Or at least find a place for himself that he can consider his new home. Not having a home is – it’s one of the worst things that Castiel can think of.

Once everything is ready, Dean takes Castiel to town. His method involves dropping his hand onto Castiel’s shoulder and telling him to bend his knees. For a split second there’s that disorienting feeling of falling without falling and Castiel wavers on his feet when they move between one blink and the next, his surroundings snapping from his kitchen to an alley across the street from the market. It’s like someone changed the channel on the world while he remained fixed in place. It takes him several moments to adjust.

“I’ll wait here.” Dean pushes at his shoulder, shoving him forward a few steps. “Unless you want me to go with you so you can introduce them to your dashing new friend.”

“I’d rather not.” That is a conversation Castiel would like to avoid for as long as possible. And he’s not even sure if he can truly call Dean a friend. There’s still so much that he doesn’t know about him and Dean hasn’t even asked to know anything about him. “I’ll be right back.”

Castiel leaves him there, crossing the street quickly. His business doesn’t take long, but he doesn’t fail to notice that he does rush things along faster than he usually would. He even apologizes for having to excuse himself so soon. On his way back to where Dean is waiting, Castiel takes the long way around to the alley to make sure that no one sees him enter it but never leave.

The return home is just as jarring and Castiel has to lean against the kitchen counter to steady himself. Dean immediately leaves him for the bedroom and Sam. Castiel takes a moment to center himself before he follows.

“How is he?” He asks, joining Dean at the edge of the bed.

Dean doesn’t look up, pulling back the blanket to check on the bandages. Castiel realizes this is the first that he’s seen the wound since they put Sam in the bed and those are definitely new bandages. There isn’t a speck of blood on them and it’s not as cleanly as wrapped as when he had done it. He wonders to himself when Dean might have changed them.

“He’s healing.” Dean shrugs, gentling running his fingers over the bandages. “It was deeper than I thought. I changed them when I could smell blood and I got a better look. It’s not just his vessel that was damaged, it went deep enough that it got _him_ deep too.”

His voice sounds smaller the more he talks and Castiel recognizes it for worry. He hesitates before deciding against placing his hand on Dean’s shoulder. It would be a comforting touch, but Castiel has never been comfortable with touching people he doesn’t know well and there is an unfathomable amount of things he has yet to learn about Dean.

“You’ve taken good care of him, Dean. I’m sure he’ll be fine once he’s had enough rest.”

Dean nods but says nothing more and Castiel leaves him to cover Sam up again. There are still a few things that he needs to do before mass and he doesn’t have very long to do them. He cleans the vegetables still sitting on the counter quickly, finding space for the entire box in the fridge when he’s done. He’ll have to store them properly later.

Dean is watching Sam with a contemplative look from the chair at the end of the bed when Castiel fetches the clothing he wears while conducting mass. He takes them to the bathroom and changes there after showering. When Castiel comes out, fresh and ready to get the Church prepared for mass, he finds Dean standing in the kitchen with the fridge door open.

“What are you looking for?”

“Something new to eat.” Dean points at a carton of orange juice. “Can I try some?”

Castiel gives him a glass to pour it into and makes Dean promise not to eat everything while he’s busy with Church. Dean only agrees as long as Castiel promises to make more things for lunch. This might turn out to be the first time in a few months that Castiel actually eats three meals in one day. It’s a little odd that it takes an _angel_ to get him to do that.

“If you get bored, you’re welcome to read anything on my bookshelf.” Castiel gestures at the bookcase by the door in his bedroom as he adjusts his clerical collar in the mirror next to the closet. “Just put things back in the right order, please.”

He’s running a little late and is almost out of the room when Dean speaks up from the chair again, rolling the half finished glass of orange juice between his palms. “Thanks, Cas. For everything.”

Castiel hesitates in the doorway. He murmurs a quick “you’re welcome” before he leaves. For the entirety of the mass, he’s distracted. There are _angels_ in his bedroom and he’s standing at the pulpit preaching the word of God to a small group of people who have no idea that there’s an entirely different side to the world that works beneath the surface of their oblivious bubbles. It kind of puts things in a whole new perspective for him.

After everything is cleaned up and the last of the parishioners have left, Castiel returns to the rectory to find Dean reading one of the many books he has, his feet propped up on the end of the bed while he reclines in the reading chair. His suit jacket is tossed over the back of the chair and now the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, the rosary around his wrist making little clinking noises whenever he moves his hand to turn the page. Castiel’s bookshelf holds a little bit of almost every genre and Dean is currently flipping through one of the Vonnegut novels that Balthazar brought back for him from one of his many hunts.

Seeing Dean looking so _human_ has Castiel pausing at the door. Even while eating Dean didn’t seem so... so… Castiel can’t quite find the word for it, but Dean just looks _different_ while he’s reading than he has at any other moment today. He looks relaxed – more than he should be in a bedroom that isn’t his. But that’s what Dean was like the first time that Castiel met him too. He’d elbowed his way into the Church and the rectory that first night without a care and he had left the very same way.

Castiel thinks Dean might be like the wind. Capricious and fully capable of being dangerous.

He clears his throat to get Dean’s attention, speaking when he has his eyes on him. “If you want to try more food, you’re going to have to help make it. I’m not going to do all the work on my own.”

Dean raises an eyebrow before he shrugs and puts the book down. “Alright.” He stops to adjust the blanket unnecessarily over Sam’s chest before he follows Castiel back into the kitchen. “What are we going to make?”

“Lunch. And we’ll prepare some things for supper since Balthazar will be here by then and he’ll likely not have had anything decent in weeks.” Castiel puts an apron on before they get started.

He doesn’t want to have to changes his clothes _again_ today and he’s certain that if Dean can clean blood from his clothes, than a little mess like cooking shouldn’t be any different. And hopefully this will help him get his mind off Sam. Castiel can quite easily imagine what it’s like to see your brother lying broken in a bed and not being able to help him. It’s happened more than once with Balthazar and it can only be worse for Dean, knowing that he _can_ help but not being allowed to.

The moment they start, Dean is enthralled by everything they do, from preparing the glaze for the ham thawing in the sink to cutting the vegetables for the soup they’ll have for lunch. He insists on taste testing everything that they work with, making faces at some of the seasonings and tasting more of the things he does like. He nearly knocks the bag of flour off the counter while trying to steal second, third, and fourth tastes of the apple filling that Castiel is working on instead of mixing dough like he’s supposed to be doing.

While they cook, Dean leaves every so often to at least glance into the bedroom to check on Sam. He looks troubled for those moments before Castiel manages to distract him again with the offer of tasting something else. They do talk as they work and, surprisingly, it’s Castiel who does the most of it. It starts with an innocent question of where Castiel learned to cook and Castiel finds himself talking about learning it at the orphanage. That leads into talking about where he got his love for gardening and why he decided to enter the priesthood.

He doesn’t tell Dean much beyond what his parishioners know about him simply from reading the brief biography in the Church’s information pamphlet. Some of Dean’s questions are more personal and Castiel works around answering them, knowing full well that Dean is aware of what he’s doing. He’s barely known Dean for twenty four hours in total, of course Castiel isn’t going to tell him every personal detail of his childhood. But he can give more depth to it by talking about hunting and the seals, the side of the story the parishioners don’t know.

When they finally sit to eat, Castiel has managed to escape the entire endeavor with barely even a light powdering on his apron. Dean, however, has white handprints all over his pants and a smear of flour on his cheek. He’s not surprised that Dean’s clothes are pristine again when he returns from checking on Sam while Castiel relaxes with a bowl of soup and a sleeve of crackers.

It throws Castiel off every time Dean does something inhuman like that. At times while they were working, there were moments when Castiel realized that he had forgotten that Dean is an angel. But then Dean does something inhuman again to remind him and Castiel comes back to reality. It’s the little things, like Dean’s fascination with preparing and eating food - things that Castiel wouldn’t think twice about doing – that remind him just _what_ is sitting across the table and slurping his soup.

Sam starts talking shortly after they finish lunch. They both leave the clean up to check on him. Castiel joins them just in case there might be anything that he can do to help. All he does is remove the bandages, leaving Sam with nothing but a fresh gauze patch tapped over his stomach. He has the feeling that Sam hasn’t fully woken up yet, despite how his eyes are open and that he’s speaking. Sam keeps saying things in a language that Castiel has never heard before and Dean answers in the same harsh syllables, but he looks troubled by it and Castiel finds himself viciously wishing there was more that he could do to help.

It’s quickly apparent that there is nothing that Castiel can do to help and he quietly leaves Dean to deal with Sam while he cleans the kitchen and removes the pie from the oven. Even the freshly baked scent – one that Dean had been salivating over while they ate lunch – doesn’t draw him from Sam’s side. Castiel finds himself drifting back to the bedroom to watch from the doorway while Dean talks to Sam. Every time he checks, Dean looks more and more defeated, more hurt by whatever Sam is saying.

After the ham is in the oven, Castiel sits with Dean in the bedroom a while before afternoon mass. “Is everything alright?”

Dean looks up at him and he looks helpless. It strikes that same chord within Castiel and this time he doesn’t stop from putting his hand on Dean’s shoulder. It’s nothing that he wouldn’t do for one of his parishioners.

“He’s – I don’t know how to explain it to you, Cas. He’s there but he’s not really there.” Dean looks down at Sam again, frowning at the blank stare. “When I talk to him, he’s not really answering me. He doesn’t make _sense_ when he talks. And I can’t see him right while he’s in his vessel, so I’m not even sure what part of him got hit in the fight and it could be worse than it actually is. I just don’t _know_.”

It sounds like not knowing is something that doesn’t happen very often for Dean. Worry fills his face when Sam’s eyes slide closed and his breathing shifts, evening out like he’s sleeping. Castiel squeezes Dean’s shoulder reassuringly. “Perhaps you should rest too. I can bring a cot in here, if you’d like?”

“We don’t need to sleep.” Dean mumbles, fingers curling in the blankets. “We don’t need to sleep just like we don’t need to eat.”

Then this is more serious than Castiel first thought. He leaves Dean in the bedroom and spends the rest of the time until afternoon mass in the basement, looking through his not inconsiderable amount of books for something – _anything –_ that might mention angels. He spent weeks doing this already following the first night that he met Dean, and as unlikely as it is, maybe he missed something. Maybe there’s something down here that would be able to help them with Sam.

Not for the first time, Castiel wishes Bobby was still alive. He was a wealth of information and he would probably know something helpful. Or at least be able to point Castiel toward a tome that would be. But most everything here was once Bobby’s and if Castiel can’t find anything, then it’s unlikely that even Bobby knew – but Castiel wants something, anything, that he can give Dean to help him and Sam.

More than once his phone goes off with questions from hunters. Castiel answers on automatic, barely even remembering what the call was about after he hangs up. He’s still thinking about the books, going over everything in his mind, when he starts afternoon mass. He’s distracted enough that it takes Castiel until the Lord’s Prayer for him to notice that Balthazar is sleeping in the last pew by the doors.

Time changes then, moving slower and taking so much longer than it shoulder before Castiel finally says goodbye to the last parishioner and shuts the doors behind them. He won’t lock them until this evening, but he sincerely hopes that no one comes in need of him today.

“I really don’t know how you can stand doing the same thing twice a day every day, Cassie. Especially all this this boring churchy stuff.” Balthazar yawns, getting up when Castiel starts organizing the complimentary Bibles.

“It’s the life I chose. I like it and I don’t know why you insist on needing to insult it whenever you sit through a service.” Castiel doesn’t even bother to glare. It’s an argument they’ve been having since they were children and the services were one of the many reasons Balthazar ran away from the orphanage.

Balthazar doesn’t wait before diving into why he’s really here. “He hasn’t done anything to you, has he?”

Castiel sighs and turns around to face his brother. He’s not surprised to see that Balthazar is wearing what he likes to call his ‘hunter face’. It’s a cold, calculating look that lacks any of the emotions that Castiel knows he has. He points back at the pew. “Sit down and let me explain to you what’s going on before I let you meet them.”

“Them?” Balthazar’s eyes narrow. “There’s more than one and they’re still here? Cassie, I broke speed limits and didn’t stop to take a piss the entire way. I pulled magic out of my ass to get here in as little time as I did. They shouldn’t _still be here_.”

“Well they are, and you’re not going to insult – Balthazar, stop!” Castiel starts after him the moment Balthazar makes a break for the southern transept. “They’re _angels_ , Balthazar, they’re not here to – Would you just _wait_!”

He doesn’t. Balthazar nearly vaults over the chairs in front of Castiel’s desk and bangs through the door into the kitchen. For a moment he glances around and then he goes straight for Castiel’s bedroom. It’s really the only other place anyone would be able to hide in the rectory. Castiel reaches for his arm to stop him, but Balthazar slips away, his hand already dipping under his jacket to reach for the gun tucked into the back of his pants.

Castiel catches up to him in the doorway and he grabs his shoulder to stop him from going any further. He’s not surprised that Dean isn’t in the room, but he doesn’t have the chance to spare a moment to wonder where he’s gone to.

“That doesn’t look like the one you told me about.” Balthazar gestures at the bed. “So who the hell is he, why is he in your bed, and where’s this _Dean_?”

“That would be my brother, Sam, and _I_ am right here.”

For a split second, Castiel has the time to curse Dean’s flair for dramatics – remembering back to the entrance he made the first night they met. That’s the only thought he gets before Balthazar spins around, shoving Castiel behind him as he draws his gun and takes aim.

Dean is standing in the kitchen, fully dressed now with his jacket back on and his tie done up properly. It shouldn’t make him look like a different person, but it does and Castiel finds that he doesn’t like it. Somehow it’s just… _not_ Dean. His hands are in his pockets and Dean cocks his head to the side while he looks Balthazar over.

“Nice shirt. When did they bring v-necks back into style?” Dean’s smirk raises with his eyebrow. “Not that I’m knocking it. It suits you – accents your neck and all that.”

Balthazar’s finger curls around the trigger and Castiel can practically feel the disapproval rolling off him. “Cassie, has he told you everything yet?”

“Not everything, but –” That’s all Castiel manages to get out before Balthazar interrupts him.

“Then tell us everything before I put a bullet between your eyes. Cassie never tried a head shot, did he? I’m sure that will have more of an effect on you.”

He nearly groans, more than a little mortified with the tough guy act – though it’s not entirely an act. Balthazar really will go through with his threats. “Balthazar, please stop and _listen_. Dean isn’t –”

“Let me handle this, Cassie.”

That’s three times he’s used the nickname that Castiel hates and Dean just looks more amused with it every time, even going so far as to mouth it at him with a twitch of an eyebrow. Castiel can feel his ears burn with an embarrassed blush. It’s also the third time that Balthazar has interrupted him and Castiel will not tolerate being treated like a child. This may be the closest thing to a home that Balthazar has, but this is _Castiel’s_ home and he will not allow his guests to be threatened.

“Enough!” Castiel shoves at Balthazar’s shoulder, pushing him out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. “Put your gun away, shut up, and _listen to me_.”

“But, Cassie –”

“Go ahead and call me that again one more time, Balthazar.” Castiel pitches his voice into the dangerous end of the spectrum so he’ll know that he means business, and he ignores the surprise that fills Dean’s face. “You will _not_ shoot my guests. Shut up, sit down, and let us explain.”

“Your _guests_?” Balthazar lowers his gun and stares at him. “You’ve got to be joking. Tell me you’re joking.”

Castiel wishes that he’s surprised that Dean can’t keep his mouth shut either. “Guess Cas got all the smarts _and_ the looks in the family, huh?”

The gunshot that follows is surprising enough to make him jump and turn a dark glare on his brother. “ _Balthazar!_ ”

“What? He irks me and he deserved it.” Balthazar shrugs, not having the decency to look even remotely remorseful. “At least I only shot him where we know it won’t kill him.”

Dean stares down at the new hole in his chest over his heart. It isn’t even bleeding, but his face twists with displeasure as he touches the torn fabric. “What the hell is wrong with this family?! You guys shot an _angel_ in a _Church_ , not once, not twice, but _three times_.”

“Twice.” Castiel corrects him, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to focus away the oncoming headache. “We only shot you twice. And technically, only once was in the Church, since the rectory isn’t considered a part of it.”

After the next gunshot, Castiel reaches out and snatches the gun from Balthazar’s hand, not bothering to apologize when he complains about how it hurts his fingers. He tucks the gun into the back of his own pants as Balthazar gives him a pout that has never worked on him in the past.

“I was just being _nice_.” Balthazar whines. “I didn’t want him to be a liar.”

Lord help him, how is he supposed to manage a civil dinner with these two?


	3. Full House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Castiel comes back from afternoon mass, he’s surprised to find the rectory quiet except for soft voices coming from the bedroom. Balthazar has so far avoided being in that room at the same time as Dean, so it comes as a shock when he finds him standing in front of the bookcase while Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed. It’s much less surprising than seeing Sam sitting up and leaning back against the bundled hotel blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Pappcave's Reverse!Verse](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/Papp%27s-reverse%21verse). Papp has written a few things for it already (found at the link above) - part of Castiel's past included. 
> 
> And he was nice enough to do extra art for this fic too! Go give him some love!
> 
>  
> 
> **Updates the 15th and 30th of every month until the story is complete. And no, I'm sorry, I don't know how long it will be. For chapter statuses and information, please[check here.](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hunting+for+faith)**

Dinner goes completely as Castiel expected it to. Balthazar barely touches his meal and never takes his eyes off Dean, while Dean eats everything within reach. The only _good_ thing about the entire spectacle is just how much Dean enjoys everything. His table manners are atrocious at best, but he doesn’t let Balthazar’s distrust or sour mood spoil his appetite. Castiel doubts anything could do that.

The first few bites after grace was said were slowly savoured as Dean experienced the tastes and textures for the first time. Castiel refuses to admit that he watched Dean closely through those moments just to see his reactions. After that, watching Dean eat (and talk with food in his mouth – until Balthazar had to lecture him about it) became counterproductive to eating itself. It’s stomach turning and Castiel makes a quiet vow that if Dean is going to be eating here more, he’s going to devote extra time to teaching him table manners.

After the first five minutes, Castiel gave up trying to stop Balthazar and Dean from fighting with each other. As long as no one tries to stab anyone then he’s happy and he eats his meal in silence. Although more than once he has to kick Balthazar under the table for distasteful comments. Hunter or not, his brother has manners and if they’re going to eat dinner together than he had better use them.

“Stop _kicking_ me, Cassie!” Balthazar hisses at him after the sixth time.

“Stop insulting Dean, stop calling me that, and I will.” He answers smoothly over a forkful of mashed potatoes. “Don’t grin at that, Dean. If I thought it would do any good, I’d be kicking you too. Stop provoking Balthazar before I decide that neither one of you is getting dessert.”

Dean’s smile drops and he glances over at the pie on the counter. He’d wanted to try it before the dinner even started and Castiel had to threaten to carve angel warding onto the top of to keep him from touching it.

Castiel gets another few minutes of silent eating before Balthazar starts trying to interrogate Dean again. He hasn’t let up since Castiel took his gun away and Dean had healed and fixed the damage done. If it’s not asking what the amulet does, then it’s asking about why they’re on the run from heaven or all the questions that Castiel has already been over. Dean keeps making snide comments about Balthazar’s attire, why he has an accent while Castiel doesn’t, and deftly manages to dodge answering almost every question.

For the ones that Castiel does know the answer to, he responds in place of Dean. And vice versa.

“It doesn’t matter _why_ I have an accent, just tell me why you brought all your shit to Cassie? He doesn’t need your –”

“I didn’t bring anything to Cas. When I left the first time I told him to put up wards for the entire place – rectory included.” Dean shoves half a slice of ham into his mouth around the words. “If you got a problem with us being here, bring it up with him.”

Castiel refrains from rolling his eyes as he puts his glass down. “We’ve been over this. If I had put up the warding on the rectory too, you wouldn’t have been able to come here when you did. You said you were going to return to give me back the amulet when you were done, so I had to leave you a place you could actually return to.” He looks up from cutting the ham on his plate and fixes Dean with a flat stare. “And Balthazar has an accent because he was born in Europe and lived there for his formative years before he came to the orphanage. When he ran away, he was living there again until he heard about the fire.”

“If he was really an angel, he wouldn’t have needed you to tell him that.”

Dean swallows his mouthful slowly and Castiel can practically see the wheels working when he glances at Balthazar, a smirk pulling up one side of his mouth. “You mean like how I don’t need him to tell me that five months ago you managed to get yourself into an orgy? And yes, that is what you call it. It isn’t a ‘ménage à twelve’. ”

Balthazar’s jaw drops and Castiel nearly chokes on his food. He coughs violently and takes a sip of water before he manages to get out a scandalized version of Dean’s name.

“What? I was just making a point.” Dean shrugs and stuffs a piece of a bun in his mouth, his plate finally clear, as he glances toward the bedroom. He’s sitting with his back to the basement and Castiel has his back to the bedroom since Balthazar refused to sit anywhere he couldn’t see both angels.

Castiel takes longer to recover than Balthazar does. His brother is on his feet, hands flat against the table with his right hand strategically placed over his knife. “How did you know that?”

“I looked into your head and picked the most interesting thing in there.” Dean smirks at Balthazar again before turning to wink at Castiel.

He doesn’t share Dean’s amusement. There’s a new fear pushing up against his diaphragm and unsettling the dinner in his stomach. If Dean could read Balthazar’s thoughts so easily, what might he have already gleaned from Castiel’s mine? It’s not that he has anything particularly embarrassing or sordid to hide – he’s never even kissed anyone, let alone had an orgy – but his thoughts and his memories are _his_ to share with whomever he wishes. If Dean sees them without his permission, it’s an invasion of his privacy and Castiel has already opened his home to him, he doesn’t have to open his _mind_ too.

“Have you ever done that to me?” He asks, his voice remaining steady, low and serious enough that even Balthazar snaps his mouth closed and sits down heavily, looking between them with wide eyes.

Dean looks surprised, nearly horrified, by the question. “Hell no!” His expression slowly shifts into one that Castiel can only identify as insulted as his voice turns sulky and he slouches back in his seat. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“What makes him so bloody special then? You did it to me, why wouldn’t you do it to Cassie?”

“I only did it to you to prove my point.” Dean snaps back, arms crossed over his chest. “I learned a long time ago that humans don’t like angels spying on their thoughts and that I need to ask questions if I want to know something. The only time I brain-spy is when Sam and I are looking for answers about the seals or who we’re searching for and no one seems willing to give them. Those are people I don’t trust. I don’t do it for friends.”

Castiel relaxes marginally. He’s not exactly comfortable knowing that Dean can look into his mind whenever he wishes, but that gut feeling is back and it’s telling him that he can trust his words. Dean won’t look into his mind without his permission, Castiel is sure of it. On the other hand, Balthazar doesn’t look like he believes him. But Castiel does and that’s all that matters.

He stands and holds his hand out for Dean’s plate. Dean doesn’t hand it over until Castiel murmurs quietly. “I believe you.”

“I don’t.” Balthazar chimes in immediately, but Dean is already smiling up at Castiel and handing over all his dishes.

While Castiel and Balthazar clean up the kitchen, Dean disappears back into the bedroom. Castiel soaks the dishes as he packs up the leftovers, ignoring Balthazar’s muttered comments that question both his sanity and his reasons. He doesn’t really care what Balthazar has to say about all of this, and he certainly doesn’t care if he does or does not trust Dean. His brother is a decent hunter and he can certainly read people better than Castiel, but he hasn’t spent the last day with Dean or seen the shadowed shapes of his wings, or felt the very air ache with his true voice.

The rectory is _Castiel’s_ home and Balthazar has no say in what friends he allows to stay here.

That word still feels foreign to him in regards to Dean. Just this morning he’d been thinking about how he wouldn’t actually consider Dean a friend. The amount of time they’ve spent together can’t even add up to two full days. But Dean thinks of him as one and if Dean can see into minds, then he must be able to somehow sense the difference between those who are good and those who are bad. After all, he did bring his brother here to heal even though he’d only known Castiel for a total of ten minutes – and that had been months ago.

Dean reemerges from the bedroom when Castiel announces that it’s time for dessert. He’s missing the jacket of his suit and the tie is pulled loose around his throat, the first few buttons undone enough that the amulet can be seen again. Castiel places a plate with a generous slice of pie in front of him and holds out the can of whipped cream for Dean to use at his leisure. He’s not surprised that Dean sprays a mountain of it on top of the pie.

His reaction to his first bite is even worse than how he’d been trying food for the first time this morning. Balthazar honestly looks shocked by the wanton moan and sheer bliss written across Dean’s face, eyes closed and fork still indenting his bottom lip. Castiel can feel a blush crawling up his neck and he’s not even sure why.

“Could you _be_ any more pornographic?” Balthazar mutters around his own forkful of pie.

“I could be naked.” Dean responds automatically, not even looking up from his plate as he meticulous carves out another bite covered in cream.

Now Castiel can feel the blush on his ears and he knows why it’s there. He tries not to imagine what that would be like, but it’s difficult now that they’ve both said it out loud. He’s never watched porn before, but he knows all about it from Balthazar’s less than helpful discussions on it when he teases Castiel regarding his vows of celibacy. His only saving grace at the moment is repeating passages of the Bible to distract from the imagery and the different sounds Dean makes with every bite.

Balthazar’s upper lip curls and that’s the last Castiel sees or hears before he shuts them both out, staring down at his plate and eating silently while filling his head with Biblical script. It’s the only way he gets through dessert – and how he misses Dean eating the rest of the pie and finishing off the can of whipped cream with it. He’d be upset about it, but he has the feeling that Dean would have demanded another flavour of pie tomorrow, regardless if there were leftovers or not.

The snide comments, thinly veiled threats and insults continues from the bedroom where Dean is to the kitchen table where Balthazar still sits while Castiel finishes cleaning the kitchen and sorting the vegetables from the box in the fridge. He’s given up on intervening in their little squabbles. As long as Balthazar doesn’t try to shoot or stab Dean, and Dean doesn’t try to smite Balthazar, Castiel is happy.

When he’s done, Castiel spends the rest of the evening doing Church paperwork. He leaves the door to his office open so he can listen to them, just in case Balthazar tries anything – like going for the gun that is taped under the sink.

It’s in the middle of finishing a report to the Bishop in charge of the diocese his parish is a part or when Balthazar storms in and slams the door. Castiel doesn’t even bother turning around or taking his fingers from the keyboard as his brother slumps into one of the two chairs on the other side of the desk.

“I can’t stand him.”

“So I gathered.”

“He’s egotistical, rude, fiendish –”

Castiel snorts quietly, never taking his eyes from the screen. “My statement still stands, then. He’s a more attractive you.”

Balthazar shoots him a scathing look before he continues. “- And I just know he’s up to something _bad._ You’re a fool to trust him, Cassie.”

“Funny, I remember Anna and Uriel saying the same thing when I first made friends with you.”

“Hah, bloody ha. Piss off.” He grumbles, sliding lower in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “I refuse to sleep under the same roof as him without some kind of protection.”

Castiel has the program spell check the last of his report before he finally looks at his brother. “There’s a motel in town you can use.”

“I’m not letting you stay here alone with him either.”

Lovely. That means Balthazar is unlikely to leave the entire time that Sam is healing here. Castiel sighs and rubs at his temple. He can feel a headache coming on. They don’t happen to him very often, but with the added stress of all his work on top of having two angels _and_ Balthazar here, it’s starting to get to him.

“Then go get your things from the car while I get another cot. I spent last night in the basement and that’s protected against them so there’s nothing for you to complain about.”

Castiel leans through the doorway into the kitchen and calls their plans across to the bedroom for Dean to know. He doesn’t give much of an answer – more like a noise of acknowledgement. Once Balthazar is back inside the church, sleeping bag and pillow in his arms, Castiel locks both sets of doors and they spend the next half an hour setting up their makeshift beds in the rectory’s basement and getting ready to sleep.

For the second night in a row, Castiel uses the bedding Dean borrowed from a hotel and he only shrugs when Balthazar looks at it questioningly. Of course he does end up having to explain by the time they’re tucking themselves into bed and Castiel is subjected to yet another tirade about how Dean is no good and that he needs to carve the warding symbols into the rest of his home before something terrible happens.

Dean was reading another book, apparently already finished the first, when Castiel had gone to get a pair of pajamas and to say goodnight. He did check on Sam too before he joined Balthazar in the basement. Sam’s temperature is unchanged and the bandages on his stomach were fresh and without blood. According to Dean, Sam is no longer bleeding and the flesh is knitting together nicely – which means that Sam is healing and getting better. He said it all with a warm smile on his face. One that made Castiel’s throat feel tight and something like a chill, albeit pleased and somewhat confusing, chase over his ribs

Despite Balthazar’s near constant (and rather depressing) babble about the angels and their secrets, Castiel still manages to fall asleep feeling relieved that Sam is healing. It had been very upsetting for Dean to see his brother like that, and now Dean can finally relax too. Sam is mending and there should be nothing more for him to worry about.

It’s a small blessing that, in the morning, Balthazar keeps his mouth shut until Castiel has had his minimum required cups of coffee. To both their surprise, Dean is already waiting at the kitchen table with three steaming mugs. One is held between both his hands and tipped to his lips, while the others sit in front of the two empty chairs.

“I’m not drinking that.” Balthazar points at the mug in front of his seat.

Dean doesn’t say a word, merely moving it to the other side of the table next to Castiel’s mug. He sits down slowly, squinting at the mugs and then across the kitchen to the coffee maker. “How did you –?”

“I saw how you made it yesterday.” Dean shrugs and takes another sip. Aside from rolling up his sleeves, his outfit hasn’t changed at all this morning.  His rosary clinks against the ceramic of the mug every time he moves his hand. “Those two don’t have anything added to them. I didn’t know what dickhead here likes and yesterday you drank it straight from the pot.”

He’s doing the same thing that he did before and not looking directly at Castiel. It’s not something that he’s conscious enough to process or discern the meaning of, and at this point of the morning, he really doesn’t care. If Dean has morning issues – whether it be that Castiel hasn’t brushed his teeth, shaved, attempted to fix his hair, or because he doesn’t button the majority of his pajama shirt – he can’t bring himself to even think beyond that. There’s no reason for it and he hasn’t had enough coffee for those kind of thoughts yet.

Castiel takes a careful sip from one of the mugs, ignoring Balthazar’s protests. Bliss in the form of liquid nirvana spills over his tongue and Castiel nearly slumps in his seat as he takes one slow sip after another.

“Don’t drink it, Cassie! He’s probably drugged it with angel roofies or something.”

“Don’t be absurd. It tastes fine and if you either of you start up anything before I’m finished my two cups, I will kill you both.” He mutters the threat around the lip of his mug because he can’t be bothered to lower it.

Dean gives a choked laugh into his mug and glances at Castiel for the first time this morning. “You can’t kill me.”

“I can sure as hell try.”

That seems to surprise Dean and Balthazar laughs at him for it. “What, you haven’t heard Cassie swear before?”

He shakes his head, still staring strangely at him.

“It’s rare, but he does do it. Usually it’s before he has coffee in his system.” Balthazar shrugs and leans one elbow on the table, launching into a story Castiel has heard a hundred times before about the first time he ever heard him swear. It involves drive thru coffee, speed bumps, and first-degree burns in sensitive areas.

The rest of the morning proceeds as usual. Balthazar and Dean start up their bickering again the moment Castiel is fully caffeinated. He avoids the worst of it by taking a shower, leaving breakfast to Balthazar with the strict instructions that if he doesn’t make enough for Dean too, then Castiel is going to set his car on fire. Thankfully, there isn’t a catastrophic mess in the kitchen when he comes out of the bathroom fully dressed and ready for the day.

For the first time in a very long time, the rectory is loud with voices – even if Castiel shuts himself in his office to try and get some work done. It’s oddly comforting, yet still annoying. He’s not even sure what Dean and Balthazar are even arguing about anymore. Sometimes he hears Balthazar bring up what little information Dean has shared with them, but most of them time it’s insults to Dean’s character or his vessel.

More than once Balthazar mentions Dean’s intentions towards Castiel, and that baffles him completely. What else could Dean possibly want from him beyond needing a place to rest if he or Sam are injured? He’s already made it clear – to both Castiel and now Balthazar – that there’s nothing _humans_ can do to help. That’s the only time that Castiel actually joined in the fight, taking Balthazar’s side as they reminded Dean that they’re both hunters and have been for nearly half their lifetimes, and Balthazar is one of the best in the business.

The only time the fighting actually stops is during meals and when Dean starts helping Castiel cook and bake. As Castiel guessed, Dean demands (and then asks nicely when Castiel refuses on principle) that they have a different kind of pie for dessert.

When Castiel comes back from afternoon mass, he’s surprised to find the rectory quiet except for soft voices coming from the bedroom. Balthazar has so far avoided being in that room at the same time as Dean, so it comes as a shock when he finds him standing in front of the bookcase while Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed. It’s much less surprising than seeing Sam sitting up and leaning back against the bundled hotel blanket.

He has dark rings under his eyes and looks like he could use a hot shower and another decade of sleep. Someone put the shirt on him that Castiel had laid out the other night and it fits him nicely. When Castiel steps into the room, Sam looks away from Dean and glances him over before a small, grateful smile lifts the corners of his thin lips.

“You must be Cas.”

Castiel nods, crossing the room and holding out his hand. “Father Castiel Collins. It’s nice to see you finally awake.”

Sam squints at his hand before reaching out to shake it. He misses the first grab and Castiel catches Dean’s pained look before he moves his hand to where Sam can grab it. The grip is weak and Sam drops his hand back to the bed, barely making the effort to lower it gently.  Castiel won’t say it out loud, but Sam looked better when he was sleeping.

“How are you feeling?” He asks quietly, barely refraining from checking Sam’s temperature as he steps closer to the bed despite Balthazar’s barely concealed cough of warning. At least his brother is keeping his mouth shut right now.

He doesn’t answer, his hand lifting from his lap to run his fingers over the buttons of the flannel shirt. “This isn’t mine.”

“It’s mine. We changed your clothing since your suit was so damaged. You can borrow it until you’re fully healed.”

Sam makes a quiet noise in his throat and his hand drops heavily to his lap again. His eyes are unfocused when he looks back up again. Dean reaches out to pat him on the leg. “Hey, Cas asked you a question.”

“He did?” He squints at Dean for a moment before looking up at Castiel again. “What was it?”

There’s that pained expression on Dean’s face again. Castiel can see it out of the corner of his eye. He forces a gentle smile to his lips, the same kind of smile that he uses on attendees to funerals, hoping that it will be a comfort to both angels. “How are you feeling?”

“Like crap.” Sam mutters, chin tilting to his chest as his brow furrows. He squeezes his eyes shut and his hand moves to his stomach, settling over where the bandages lie beneath the shirt.

Dean looks up at Castiel, his concern showing for a brief moment before his expression slips back into something more relaxed. Perhaps Dean is keeping up that front so he doesn’t worry Sam? Castiel doesn’t know and he doesn’t quite understand why that’s necessary, but he chooses not to say anything for the moment.

“You know what would probably make you feel better?” Dean grins at Sam when he lifts his head. “Pie. Sammy, you need to try _pie_. Have you tried food before? It’s awesome.”

Sam gives him a tired smile as he slips lower in the bed, head tilting back and eyes sliding shut. “Maybe later.”

Dean’s expression shifts again and Castiel feels something in his chest flinch from that look. His fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and put his hand on his shoulder, to offer some kind of comfort. If there was more Castiel could do for either of them, he would do it. He wants to prove to Dean that humans aren’t useless and that he has more to offer to help them than just a place to rest.

“Cassie, why don’t we go get supper started and let the angels talk?” Balthazar speaks from his shoulder and Castiel nearly pulls away in surprise. He hadn’t heard him move. It’s an odd suggestion coming from him. He’s been adamant that Dean and Sam are up to no good, yet he wants to give them the time to talk? Either he’s planning something or his fights with Dean have somehow managed to give him an insight that Castiel has yet to fathom.

Dinner is prepared in silence, both of them listening to the soft voices in the bedroom. Sam and Dean are speaking in the harsh syllables of a language not even Balthazar recognizes and Castiel suspects that it might be Enochian – the language of the angels mentioned more than once in several of the texts in the basement. He’ll have to ask Dean about it while they eat.

By the time supper is ready and the table set, Sam is asleep again. Dean eats, but with much less gusto than he did before. He keeps glancing back toward the bedroom and it takes a few repetitions of questions to get him to answer. It’s worrying and Castiel finds it hard to eat most of his meal and even Balthazar is quiet for the majority of their time at the table. Castiel thinks – hopes, really – that it’s out of respect and understanding for Dean’s situation.

He can remember the first time he woke up in a hospital after a hunt that went horribly wrong. It was one of his firsts, and Castiel had been cocky. He’d thought that everything he’d read at Bobby’s and the training he had done would be enough. And he had been sorely mistaken. Waking up to seeing the same look on Balthazar’s face as he’s seen on Dean over the last few days is one of his most painful memories. There’s no doubt in his mind that Balthazar is likely recalling all the times he’s woken up himself to see Castiel haggard and worried at his bedside.

The bickering between them doesn’t start up again until it’s time for dessert. Castiel cuts a large slice of the cherry pie they made before mass that afternoon and places the plate in front of Dean. Before Dean can even pick up his fork, Balthazar pulls the plate over to himself and is quick to start eating it. He’s even staring blatantly at Dean as he does it and Castiel can see the silent challenge for what it is.

“You son of a bitch.” Dean hisses, eyes narrowed. “That’s _my_ pie.”

Balthazar’s muffled words could be translated as “I don’t see your name on it.” But they might also have been an exorcism. Castiel isn’t entirely sure, but he can feel the air growing tight as if Dean is gathering his powers to him.

“It’s alright. I can cut you another piece, Dean.” Castiel says quietly, already carving a new slice of equal size to the first.

“It’s the principle of the matter, Cas. You cut that for me and he _took_ it.” Dean leans forward over the table. “Just you wait, dickhead. I’ll get you back for that.”

Balthazar snorts and licks filling from his fork as Castiel puts another two plates down and sits. “And what could you possibly take from me, I wonder? I’ve got nothing to lose, freckles.”

If Dean gives a reply, it’s not a verbal one. If it’s a physical one, Castiel doesn’t see it. He’s meticulously cleaning the edges of his piece of filling spillover when Balthazar slams his hand down on the table. Castiel looks up sharply only to find Dean calmly eating his pie while smiling like the cat who got the canary. Balthazar, on the other hand, looks furious.

“Don’t you dare.” He hisses. “This is between you and me.”

Castiel glances between them, confused. He opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it. Whatever little fight they’re going to have, he doesn’t want to be a part of it. And it’s bringing a sense of normalcy back to the mood in the rectory.

Dean looks up from his pie, briefly turning his eyes to him. Castiel tilts his head slightly and raises his eyebrow, a clear show of confusion. He gets no answer before Dean’s attention is back to Balthazar. “I was just making the point that you _do_ have something lose.”

A feeling starts creeping up his spine that they might be talking about him and Castiel frowns, eating his pie slowly and watching them. He doesn’t want to be a part of their fight, and especially not like this.

“Besides, I like Cas better than you.” Dean grins, winking at him and taking both Castiel and Balthazar aback. “I wouldn’t do anything to him that he didn’t ask me for first.”

Balthazar’s face goes red, right to the roots of his dirty blond hair and he’s on his feet again. “Keep your paws off my baby brother!”

Castiel can feel the blush on his neck again. He’s been on the receiving end of enough flirtations from the older (and sometimes younger) single women who attend the services he holds and Balthazar has seen to attempting to educate him about the more debauched side of life while trying to convince him to break his vows. Since he has no interest in it, the majority of subtle flirtations go over his head.

But Dean is being obvious, more than that even. His grin is lascivious and he’s watching Castiel steadily. It should make him uncomfortable. He shouldn’t be blushing more and letting Dean think that he can tease him like that with no basis for it. Dean is an _angel_ of all things, and Castiel is a _priest_. There’s no rhyme or reason to why Dean would flirt with anyone, let alone why he would pick _Castiel_ for that.

Well, no. There is a reason. He’s probably doing it to bother Balthazar (quite effectively, actually). And Castiel is fine with that. As long as Dean isn’t moping about Sam’s condition, Castiel will welcome any way that Balthazar goes about distracting him – provided that there isn’t any bloodshed. The only part of this that _is_ bothering him, is how much it isn’t making him uncomfortable when all other instances in the past have at least made him feel awkward.

All he manages to do is push his chair away from the table and shove his half finished pie toward Dean. “I have work to do. Try not to break anything when you clean up.”

He’s not even fully in his office before Balthazar’s accusing tones hiss behind him. “Look what you did!”

“What _I_ did? You’re the one who stole my pie!”

Castiel can hear their back and forth continue through the door of his office while he returns to balancing the finance sheets for the rest of his report. More than once Balthazar complains loud enough for him to hear about Dean’s complete lack of knowledge about where anything goes in the kitchen, let alone how to clean a pan properly. It makes Castiel smile at the computer screen. Dean helped him clean the dishes the first day he was here. He knows what to do and he has a rudimentary knowledge of where Castiel puts things just from watching him during meal preparations and afterward. He’s messing with Balthazar and that makes Castiel feel better – knowing that he’s successfully been distracted from Sam’s health.

This is the first time in a very long time that he’s had three full, well rounded meals, on consecutive days. Castiel feels oddly full – satiated in more ways than one. Even the constant noise, when he’s so used to silence (aside from the times he plays the radio on the kitchen counter), doesn’t bother him. This is almost like what Castiel had wanted as a child. He wanted to follow in Father Christopher’s shoes and run the orphanage after him. He wanted a house full of bodies and laughter – and at least he has one of those right now.

It’s not exactly the same as what he always wanted, but it has him completing the entire report with a small smile on his face.

The only time Castiel gets up is when the kitchen is suspiciously quiet for too long a time. He finds Dean standing on the other side of the door, his hands in his pockets and staring at the ceiling. Balthazar is nowhere to be seen, but Castiel can hear the shower running.

“Is there something I can help you with, Dean?”

He doesn’t move, face still tilted upward. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel’s forehead wrinkles with a confused frown. “For what?”

Dean gestures vaguely over his shoulder toward the table. “For making you uncomfortable.”

Oh. “I wasn’t uncomfortable. I had work to do and I didn’t feel like being pulled into whatever you and Balthazar were going to fight about next.” He leaves the door open and returns to his desk. It’s not that far from the door and Dean can still talk to him while he works, even if he can’t enter the office itself.

Despite moving to his desk, he doesn’t miss how Dean finally looks at him, one eyebrow raised and surprise written into lines and freckles of his face. “You… weren’t?”

“Why would I be?” Castiel shrugs and opens his date book again, checking his schedule for the next few days. “You were using me to tease Balthazar. His over protectiveness of me is a weakness you were able to exploit.”

Dean hums a quiet noise and when Castiel looks back to the door, he’s gone. He doesn’t see him again until Balthazar is calling for Castiel to get some sleep. It’s been two nights in a row that he’s had a decent rest and he hasn’t done that in months – let alone had a third. There are things he would rather do than sleep. Like scrub the Church so he’ll have time to tend the gardens out front tomorrow, or read one of the new books he picked up when he hosted a community yard sale a month ago.

Not to mention that Dean doesn’t sleep and Castiel doesn’t think it will do him much good to be left alone with Sam when his condition depresses Dean. He could stay up and they could do a puzzle or something – there are several things in the Church basement that he could bring to the rectory for them to do together. Or they could simply talk. He hasn’t had a chance to talk to Dean alone again since Balthazar arrived and Castiel had enjoyed their little conversations while they had their adventures in cooking.

But Balthazar is relentless and Castiel ends up preparing for bed whether he wants to go or not. It’s while he’s brushing his teeth, fully changed into his pajamas, that he realizes why he enjoyed those moments with Dean. They were like having a friend again. All he’s had for so long is Balthazar and the time with Dean had been… _refreshing_.

Balthazar questions the small smile he wears to bed after saying ‘good night’ to Dean, and Castiel doesn’t have an answer for him. The idea of thinking of Dean as a friend – albeit a sometimes annoying one – is growing on him and quickly. That floating feeling of happiness trapped behind his ribcage is still there in the morning when Dean is waiting for them both at the kitchen table with the cups of coffee ready again.

Sam wakes up again a few times throughout the day and he’s more cognizant and coherent every time. By evening, Dean even encourages him to get out of the bed and move around the rectory. Another chair is brought in from the Church basement to allow for Sam to join them for dinner and, surprisingly, Balthazar and Dean are civil through the whole thing. Sam doesn’t seem to share the same enjoyment for food that Dean does, but that could be attributed to still being under the weather.

He does seem to have a fascination with the shirt Castiel lent him. More than once Castiel hears Dean tell him to stop looking in the mirror and get back to resting. With Sam awake and almost mobile, Dean spends more of his time in the bedroom talking with him in Enochian. He’s not exactly sure why, but that makes his stomach twist unhappily in the closest thing to jealousy he’s felt since he was a child.

That ugly feeling keeps him awake and Castiel spends the night in his office plotting his sermons for the next month. He can hear Sam and Dean talking for a while, and even the turning of the pages of whatever book Dean is reading while Sam sleeps.

Between gardening in the morning to prepare for the wedding he has to officiate in the afternoon, both masses, and the influx of phone calls from hunters wanting information – most of which he delegates to Balthazar while he’s busy with other things – Castiel doesn’t get to talk with Dean or Sam much the next day. Balthazar is gone most of the morning, taking a trip to town to pick up some supplies. With Sam healing quickly now, he’ll be leaving when the angels do and they all figure that will be soon.

Castiel doesn’t want to think about them leaving.

Dean does come out to join him in the garden a few times during the morning. He brings Castiel cold water, explaining that Sam said he should do it if he wasn’t going to help with the gardening. At one point he does offer to help, but Castiel sends him back inside. He doesn’t know what to do and he’ll only be a distraction. As much as he would like to have Dean out here to talk to, he can’t have the wedding decorators show up early and ask questions about the man in the garden weeding in a suit.

By the end of the day, Castiel is exhausted. The afternoon mass was held amidst the remnants of the wedding’s decorations, most of which he had to take down himself while Balthazar covered the phone for a particularly difficult hunt that had him coordinating with several other hunters to get there for back up. Balthazar also takes it upon himself to cook breakfast, lunch and supper – ensuring that Castiel eats at all three and that there’s enough for the angels too.

When Castiel finally sits down at the table, barely able to stay awake and ready to go to sleep, he is unprepared for the angels to come out of the bedroom fully dressed in their suits. Sam’s jacket is done up, but he keeps adjusting his tie. Dean’s jacket is open and his tie is still loose, the first few buttons of his shirt still undone.

“I don’t see why we can’t get casual clothes.” Sam mutters, finally satisfied with the knot. “We’d blend in better and you’d finally stop complaining about the stupid tie.”

Dean shrugs. “These are the clothes our vessels gave their lives in, Sammy. They knew they might not get them back and they wanted to go out in their Sunday best.”

“But wouldn’t you like to be _comfortable_ for once?”

The sinking feeling in his stomach keeps Castiel from smiling at their banter. Sam is all better. It’s been four days since they got here and now that Sam is healed, they’re leaving. They’re leaving and that means Balthazar is going to leave too soon and – and he’s just going to stop thinking now.  

“You’re sticking too close inside your vessel, Sam. You need to detach yourself from it enough that you don’t notice the clothes or its comfort.”

“Tell that to all the food you ate, jerk.”

Dean at least has the courtesy to look slightly unhappy at being caught out as a hypocrite. “That’s different. Hey, Cas, we’re –”

“Leaving.” Castiel sighs, cutting him off as he stands. “I know.” He opens the basement door and shouts down the stairs. “Balthazar! They’re leaving. If you want to insult either of them before they go, you should do so now.”

“Did you have to tell him?” Dean grumbles, leaning against the side of the fridge. “I would’ve rather left without him knowing.”

“Manners, Dean. Use them.” Sam rolls his eyes and gives Castiel a hopeless look. “Cas was nice enough to put up with us for the last few days, the least you can do is say goodbye to his brother – the one who _fed you_ all day.”

Balthazar is just saying goodbye to whomever he has on the phone when he reaches the top of the stairs. He snaps it closed and shoves it against Castiel’s chest. “Take the bloody thing. I don’t know how you put up with them.”

“The same way I put up with you.”

“You have the patience of a saint, Cassie.” He pats him on the shoulder before turning to Sam and Dean. “It’s damn well time that you two get the hell out.”

Castiel smacks him upside the head and ignores the dark glare it gets him. “He doesn’t mean that. You’re both welcome here whenever you need it.” He gestures at the dried blood on the wall, flaking off in places. “How long will that be necessary?”

“You can wash it off once we’re gone.” Sam reaches out to touch it, eyes calculating while he looks it over. Castiel can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking about how it’s drawn with the blood of his vessel.

“Because you’re not coming back?” Balthazar sounds hopeful and Castiel hates it. The idea that Dean and Sam won’t be returning leaves a sour taste on the back of his tongue. 

Dean snorts and his mouth opens as if he’s going to answer, a smirk already pulling up one corner. But no sound comes out. His eyes go out of focus as if he’s staring off into the distance, like he’s not even there anymore. Something sharp twinges behind Castiel’s sternum and he takes a few steps past Balthazar towards him, only to be stopped by Sam’s hand, fingers spread over his chest.

“Don’t worry.” He murmurs, turning around to look at Dean too. “He’s fine.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Balthazar asks, voice cautious behind Castiel.

Sam shakes his head. “Nothing, he’s just listening.”

“To what?”

“Prayers. Our contact in heaven is praying to him.” Sam says as he straightens his jacket, and Castiel doesn’t miss the longing glance toward the bedroom. “If we’re lucky, it means that we’re going to have the location of another seal soon.”

Balthazar shoves Castiel out of the way, sending him stumbling back against the table and the chairs as he takes his place next to Sam. “Dean said you were on the run from heaven. Who the hell is up there and sending you idiots directions? Is it another angel?”

“Of course not. It’s a human soul. Dean and I used to patrol the human side of heaven together, and we found this group who figured out how to jump between the different heavens –”

“There’s more than one heaven?” Castiel asks, shocked. Balthazar shushes him.

He gets out the first syllable of his next question before it’s smothered by Dean’s displeased hiss as he comes back to reality. “Sam! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Sam looks confused, glancing between his brother, Castiel and Balthazar. “Explaining about the prayers. What did you think I was doing?”

“Did a couple days of sleep turn you stupid? You can’t go and give them information like that!” Dean steps way from the fridge and grabs Sam’s arm, pulling him around so he’s standing next to him. “The less they know, the safer they are.”

His frown deepens and he pulls his arm away. “How was I supposed to know that? It’s not like you haven’t spent the last two days telling me how awesome Cas is, that he’s on our side and we can trust him, or – y’know – anything like _that_.”

The pressure in the room feels like it doubles with the flat glare Dean turns on him. He mutters something sharp and hard in Enochian, red creeping into his cheeks and Castiel isn’t sure if it’s a blush or if it’s anger. The rustling, flapping sound of wings fills the air and Dean is gone in the space of a blink.

Sam stares at the empty space next to him before rolling his eyes and gracing Castiel and Balthazar with a small, sheepish smile. “Sorry about that. Thank you for the bed, the food, and all your help.” He raises one hand in a small wave. “Bye.”

And then Sam is gone too in the same rush of sound. Castiel sinks slowly into one of the chairs, looking at the two spares that he’s going to have to put away now. Even with Balthazar standing next to him, staring hard at the space they’d been, the silence is almost suffocating. He’d been expecting it to be quiet after they left, but he didn’t think it would be _this_ quiet. It’ll be even worse once Balthazar leaves too.

“Was that what it was like before?” Balthazar asks slowly. “They just pop out like that? Are you really going to trust those bastards?”

“Yes, I am. And this is only the second time that I’ve seen Dean.” Castiel reminds him, resting his elbows on the table while he rubs his temples. He either needs more coffee or a decent amount of sleep. “The last time he left, he didn’t even say ‘good bye’. He just kissed me on the cheek and warned be about how to use the angel warding before he disappeared.”

Balthazar doesn’t say anything, but Castiel can practically feel the irritation rolling off him. As blessed as the quiet is for the tension headache Castiel has been carrying for the last few hours, it’s unnerving. He spent four days adjusting to having voices and the overall _presence_ of other people here. Now two of them are gone and the third will be leaving in the morning. There’s no one to blame for the tight, unhappy feeling in his chest and Castiel knows it’ll just be another few days before he adjusts to being alone again. But that doesn’t mean that he has to like it. If he didn’t want to be alone because it’s absolutely necessary, he would have applied for placement in a bigger parish.

He jerks in surprise when Balthazar’s hand touches his shoulder. “Go get some sleep, Cassie. I’ll put all the extra stuff away and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Castiel gives him a small, grateful smile. He just wants to go to bed and not think about what it’s going to be like after Balthazar leaves tomorrow. After washing up and changing, Castiel is in the process of changing the sheets on his bed when Balthazar knocks on the door and opens it.

“Your idiot angel left the bedding from the hotel. What do you want me to do with it?” He has the blanket and pillow folded in his arms.

For a moment, Castiel contemplates the threadbare comforter in his hand. It’s several years old and isn’t very comfortable anymore. On the colder nights, Castiel has to wear extra layers to bed to keep warm. And the single pillow on his bed is hard and even less comfortable. He can only sleep on it because he’s so used to it. The one time that Balthazar tried taking a nap in the bed, he’d ended up using the seat cushion from the reading chair in its place.

This wouldn't be the first time that a stolen item ends up here. More than once, hunters have left Castiel with artifacts they’ve pilfered from museums or the homes of rich idiots who don’t know what they had. The radio in the kitchen actually belongs to one of Balthazar’s ex-girlfriends who tried to rob him blind, only to find out that all his credit cards were fake. He got her back by pawning a few of her things.

It’s not exactly decent, but hunters never are and Castiel has a foot in both worlds; the one on the surface and the darker one beneath. And sometimes, those two worlds overlap to coexist. With a sigh, he folds his old pillow up in the blanket and finds a place for it in the top of his closet. Balthazar leaves him with another quiet ‘good night’ and the new bedding. Castiel is too tired to bother attempting to struggle into pajamas, settling for crawling into bed in just his boxers and shirt.

When morning comes, Castiel half expects Dean to be sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee ready for him – just like he did the last three days. Of course there’s no one, not even Balthazar. The basement door is ajar and Castiel can hear his snores from here. Even while he putters around making his coffee, the kitchen is overwhelmingly silent. Castiel tolerates it for the time it takes the coffee to brew and for him to use the bathroom.

By the time he sits down to drink his first cup, he’s already turned on the radio to a random station. This morning it’s classical and he closes his eyes and listens to Franz Schubert’s ‘Ave Maria’ for violin. He gets through a few songs and another couple cups of coffee before Balthazar clunks up the stairs with the folded cot and his sleeping bag.

“What the hell are you listening to?” He yawns, leaving the cot against the wall by the office door before pouring himself some coffee. “I thought you had better taste.”

“Not all of us listen exclusively to the trash they play in night clubs.” Castiel murmurs, giving him a warning glare when he reaches for the dial on the radio. “When are you leaving?”

Balthazar doesn’t change the station, but he does turn it down. He fakes a pout as he takes the seat opposite. The other two chairs are missing and Castiel can only assume that Balthazar put them and the extra cot away last night. “Are you kicking me out, Cassie?”

“I’m only asking when you’re planning on leaving. You know you’re always welcome to stay as long as you want.”

He’s silent for a moment, watching Castiel over the lip of his mug while he drinks. “Are you going to be lonely? I found a few hunts in yesterday’s paper, but I can tell someone else about them and stick around if you want me to.”

Castiel would, but he can’t be that selfish and take Balthazar away from hunts where people are in need. His brother is one of the best in the business, despite his sometimes outlandish means of getting things done. He shakes his head and looks down at his coffee. “I’ll be fine.”

Balthazar hums an acceptance and takes another sip. “You should take a vacation.”

“I can’t close the –”

“Call in a replacement priest for a week.” He cuts him off, leaning forward on the table. “Get someone else to watch the place for a week, hide all things supernatural, and come on a hunt with me. Just for one week. Be _you_ , not Father Collins. We’ll do as many hunts as we can, have a night on the town, get drunk. And if you’re lucky, you might even have the chance to lose that virginity of yours.”

That manages to pull a small smile out of him. A hunt isn’t Balthazar’s idea of a vacation – it’s spending time together that is. And Castiel wouldn’t mind getting to go on a hunt with him, but he doesn’t want to do everything else that he’s suggesting. And it has been quite some time – over a year – since he left the Church for longer than laundry day.

“I’ll think about it.”

Balthazar looks surprised, sitting back heavily in his chair. “You will?”

“The hunting part, at least.”

His brother snorts and stands. “I figured as much. Crepes for breakfast?”

“Please.”

They spend the morning together, simply talking like they didn’t have the chance to while the angels were here. Balthazar even sits in on the morning mass, although Castiel catches him dozing more than once on the back pew. He doesn’t end up leaving until after lunch, and it’s a short farewell on the steps of the Church. Neither of them is one for long goodbyes and chances are they’ll speak again within the next few days.

Dean on the other hand… Castiel isn’t sure when he’ll speak to him, or Sam, again. They didn’t leave any way of contacting them, and Castiel doesn’t know Dean’s true name to pray to him properly. He doubts praying to a ‘Dean’ will do him any good.

The worst is going back to his bedroom to get maybe an hour or so of reading in before afternoon mass and finding a stack of books in the triangle of space between the arm of the chair, the end of the bed, and the wall.

Castiel had taken a liking to thinking of Dean as a friend – and by extension, Sam too. But, to his understanding, don’t friends leaves at least some way of staying in contact? He has nothing but the lingering scent of lightning in the fabric of his reading chair and a pile of books that Dean managed to read through in the span of a few days. It would have been nice to sit down and discuss the books, to find out what parts Dean did or didn’t like, and what he thought. Balthazar isn’t one for reading and Castiel doesn’t really have anyone else to talk with about them.

He leaves the radio on in the kitchen for days.

It takes the rest of the week before the silence no longer bothers him. It’s another several days before he stops wondering if he’ll see Dean or Sam again. He’s all but completely forgotten them and any lingering hurt at their abrupt departure by the time a few weeks have passed. Business as usual takes over and Castiel forgets about taking a vacation. There’s too much to do and not enough hours in the day to do it.

Laundry day finally comes around on the calendar and it’s one of the only breaks that Castiel gets from the Church. He even has a sign that he hangs over the door for parishioners to know where he is if they desperately need him. Castiel packs the rickety old Volvo station wagon with all the bags of clothes donated to the Church in the last few months. He has to clean them before he can give them to the charities that will make sure they get to the right people.

There are boxes stashed in the back seat with a roll of tape that he’ll put together while waiting for the machines. When the clothes are dry, he’ll be able to fold them directly into the boxes and take them straight to the charity’s location in town. For now, the clothes are in garbage bags. His own are wrapped in a sheet for dignity’s sake and still spilling over the edges of the hamper he places on the back seat.

He puts a few rolls of quarters, his cell phone, his keys, his wallet and a book on the kitchen table before he takes a shower. It’s still fairly early in the morning and he has all day to do the laundry. But there’s no way Castiel is going into town without a shower first. If he happens to take a longer one than usual, just to let the hot water loosen the tight muscles in his shoulders, then that’s between him and the steamed mirror when he finally does step out.

It’s only after Castiel is finished drying off that he realizes he didn’t grab his pants or underwear before he took the shower. All his has is one of his flannels hanging on the back of the bathroom door and the towel in his hand. He exchanges the shirt for the towel, hanging it up to dry on the hook. The shirt is one of his larger ones and it hangs to the top of his thighs even when it’s partially done up, giving him at least some form of modesty. Despite living alone, Castiel isn’t completely comfortable with walking around naked or even partially undressed.

He manages to be extremely grateful for that the moment he comes down the hall to find two angels standing in his kitchen. This is one of those horrible moments where time stands still and everyone stares at each other. Castiel has one hand on the frame of his bedroom door and Dean and Sam are standing by the sink. Dean has one hand raised as if he was in the middle of gesturing with it and Sam has his mouth open, jawing hanging while he stares at Castiel, colour creeping into his cheeks.

At least Sam has the courtesy to be looking at his face. Dean, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to know where to look. Castiel is well aware of every place Dean’s stare slides over him – from the open front of the shirt, and low enough that Castiel grabs the bottom of the shirt by reflex, pulling it further down than it already is. Sam makes an annoyed noise when Dean slaps his hand over his eyes.

“It’s for your own good, Sammy.” Dean manages in barely more than a whisper, eyes finally moving back up until he’s looking Castiel in the face again.

He licks his lips. The small flick of Dean’s tongue sends something _hot_ tripping down the vertebrae of his spine. It’s surprising, confusing, terrifying – none of which are emotions that Castiel likes to feel. His surprised flush turns from embarrassment to anger as the forgotten hurt returns and he’s only partially satisfied when Dean flinches under the glare he gives him. He ducks into the bedroom and slams the door to an in sync “Sorry, Cas!” from them both.

“You should be!” He snaps back, quickly pulling on the clothing he had left laid out on his bed, forgoing the shirt since he’s already wearing one. “I haven’t heard from you in nearly a month and you just barge in again without knocking first or calling ahead so I could at least put on a pair of _pants_ –” Castiel storms back out into the kitchen while still ruthlessly tucking his shirt into his jeans. “And _you_ , Dean – you left without a goodbye or a thank you or _anything_.”

Dean drops his hand and for the first time, Castiel notices the difference in his clothing. His shirt isn’t tucked anymore, hanging over his belt and peeking out under the hem of his jacket, and his tie is completely gone. For a moment, Castiel can appreciate how Dean is making himself comfortable in his vessel – despite everything he said to Sam the night they left. Even Sam is wearing his clothing differently. His jacket is no longer buttoned formally, and his tie is missing.

No one says anything and Dean now seems particularly interested in the space over Castiel’s shoulder. It’s infuriating and Castiel grabs his things from the table. He stops at the door long enough to throw a glare at Dean. “Friends don’t do that.”

He locks the door behind him, leaving the angels in the kitchen. Of course it makes no difference. They’re both standing next to the car by the time he comes around the side of the rectory. Dean, at least, doesn’t look happy, especially now that even Sam is glaring at him.

“Go away.” Castiel passes them both, sliding smoothly into the driver’s seat. “I’m not doing anything more for you.”

The rustle-flap of wings fills the car and Castiel sighs, glaring at Dean sitting in the front seat and at Sam’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “What is it? You don’t look injured and you’ve already made it clear that my only use is to give you a place to rest. So, _what do you want_?”

Dean looks down at his hands, folded in his lap. “We don’t want anything.” He looks small, like a child would before being punished.

“He means we came to visit.” Sam’s voice holds no inflection beyond irritation, speaking flatly from his place in the backseat. “We have no intel on where another seal might be and we needed a break from searching. Dean wanted to come see you.”

“Don’t say it like that!” Dean twists in his seat to glare at Sam. “I had other suggestions too! This is the one that _you_ –” He stops, and looks at Castiel and the narrow-eyed, thin-lipped glare he’s giving in full. None of what Dean is saying helps with the rekindled hurt curling tight in Castiel’s chest. “I didn’t mean it like that, Cas.”

“Explain how you meant it or get the hell out of my car. I’ve got laundry to do.” Castiel turns away from him sharply, shoving the key into the ignition with more force than necessary. The car doesn’t need to be mobile for them to leave it and he’s halfway to town before Dean says anything again – and that’s only after Sam kicks the back of his seat.

“I’m sorry. I was going to come right back and say all that stuff, but then Sam caught up with me and the seal was right there and they’d already started breaking it.” Dean slouches in his seat, bowed knees pressing up against the glove box. “And then we got wind of the guy we’re searching for and we’ve been following tips all over the world. We lost the scent yesterday and I thought it would be cool to come visit you without the added bonus of bleeding all over your stuff this time.”

Sam leans forward, arms crossed on the back of the bench. “If it’s any consolation, in the list of things he suggested, your place was four out of the ten.”

“Had to make sure your thick head got the hint somehow, bitch.” Dean huffs, crossing his arms.

Castiel’s grip on the steering wheel loosens slightly and his anger is quickly ebbing away. He _wants_ to stay mad at Dean, but it’s hard to do when he knows he missed him. It’s even harder when Dean looks at him, green eyes wide, and asks in a quiet voice if they’re still friends. Forgiveness is one of the teachings of the Church and one of the ones Castiel uphold in all aspects. He lets go of the last of his anger and answers with a nod and a quiet ‘yes’.

It’s not even necessary to turn his head to see Dean’s smile. He can hear it in his voice when he picks up the book laying on the middle seat and asks how far Castiel has gotten. Sam takes the book and sits back, reading it for the rest of the drive. He’s nearly half done it by the time Castiel pulls up in front of the Laundromat.

“Halo crowd.” Dean winks as he says it when Castiel looks at how far Sam has read in such little time. “We can read as fast or as slow as we want to.”

“How lucky for you.” He rolls his eyes and shoves a garbage of clothes into Dean’s arms. “Now help me carry these.”

They stay with him the entire time he takes up a whole wall of washers and driers. It’s a common event on laundry day and the owner even has a ‘reserved’ sign up until he walks in the doors. Castiel introduces Dean and Sam as volunteers from Pontiac and family friends. The moment he says that, Dean’s grin triples in size and even Sam is smiling brightly while Castiel shows them how to sort the clothes and use the machines. The conversation about the book continues, Sam finally able to contribute, as they put together the donation boxes.

“I’ve never seen you so talkative outside of your sermons, Father.” The owner, an older woman who’s husband’s funeral Castiel had officiated the year before, remarks when she brings them a plate of sandwiches and glasses of lemonade around lunchtime. She pats Dean on the shoulder as she passes him. “It’s nice to see that he has friends. I worry about him alone in that Church all the time.”

Castiel knows the answer he’s expected to give and he pastes a warm smile on his face, even if he doesn’t believe the words. “I’m never alone. God is always with me.”

Sam makes a noise in the back of his throat, quickly covered with a cough. When all eyes turn to him, he shakes his head and lifts the glass in his hand. His voice is strained when he speaks, but Dean’s eyes narrow and Castiel knows he’s faking. “Went down the wrong way.”

“Careful, dear.” She smiles and touches his hair. “You really should think about getting a haircut. Nice young men shouldn’t have hair like this.”

This time it’s Dean who makes the sound, but he does nothing to cover his laugh. They talk more, Castiel asking about their ‘travels’ and how their ‘worldwide scavenger hunt’ is going. Talking in code is annoying, but he’s curious to hear about the seals and it’s one topic that Dean doesn’t completely boycott. Over the last month they’ve stopped a handful of seals from breaking, and lost half of that.

“We’ve run into the opposing team’s head honcho more than once.” Dean speaks quietly so the owner won’t hear them over the machines. He tapes the bottom of a box shut and passes it to Castiel for him to start piling folded clothes in it. “He’s a nasty, white-eyed, son of a bitch.”

Castiel has never heard of white-eyed demons before. He knows that cross-road demons have red eyes, and the average demon has black eyes, but he’s never heard of _white_.

“I just hope you never meet him, Cas.” Dean’s expression goes unusually tight, restrained when he looks up at him. “If you ever even so much as hear of him sniffing around near you, get a hold of us as soon as you can.”

“And how would I do that?” Castiel gestures sharply at Dean’s forehead. “It’s not like I know what to say to get to you in there, and you don’t have cell phones, do you?”

Unsurprisingly, they don’t. Which is all the more surprising by how they suddenly _do_ by the time Castiel has dropped off the donations and is driving them all back toward the Church, his clean laundry piled neatly in the hamper and sliding around in the back of the station wagon.

“Where did you get those?” Castiel tries to keep his eyes on the road while also glancing at Dean as he fiddles with his new phone. Sam is doing the same in the backseat. “Did you steal those? From where?”

“We could tell you…” Sam looks up, catching Castiel’s eyes in the rearview mirror, a small grin pulling at his lips. “But you’d probably be mad at us for it.”

“Just think of it as another angel perk.” Dean shrugs and his phone makes a high pitched beeping noise until he pushes another button. “When we get back, you can set them up so we can call each other, right?”

Castiel frowns at the road ahead, shifting his foot from the gas to hover over the brake pedal as he notices people standing at the side of the road up ahead. There are a few cars parked on the shoulder and Castiel edges toward the center of the road so he doesn’t risk the chance of hitting anything or anyone. “You chose to steal instead of just telling me your angel names so I can pray to you.” He keeps his voice flat and disapproving, easing down on the brake pedal as a man moves away from the group and starts to cross the raod. They’re bearing down on him quickly and if he slows slightly the man should be on the other side by the time they reach him.

“We’ve been over that, Cas –” Dean is cut off when Castiel presses down on the brake sharply, slowing them quickly and coming to a full stop with a sudden jerk. The man never went further than the middle of the road – directly in front of their car.

“One minute, Dean.” Castiel’s seatbelt is already undone and he’s half out of the car before Dean even says his name. He shuts the door and takes a few steps forward, keeping one hand near his hip so he can reach the gun tucked in the back of his pants easily if he needs to. A priest, he may be, but he is also a hunter and he can never be too sure. “Can I help you, sir?”

Between the space of one blink and the next, Dean is standing protectively in front of Castiel, one arm held out to keep him back. Sam is next to him, a hand on his shoulder and a hushed command to stay back in his ear. There isn’t much to be confused about when Castiel sees the man over Dean’s shoulder; tall, a twisted and cruel smile, and most noticeably – _white eyes_.

The air hurts again, growing tight and hard to breathe. Castiel imagines, briefly, that Dean’s wings are spreading – that the shifting of his back under his jacket is more than him just squaring his shoulder. When Dean speaks, the word is layered as if multiple voices are speaking with him when he says one name.

“Alistair.” 


	4. Brotherly Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel _hates_ being treated like he’s useless. Worst of all he hates that unknown fluttery feeling under his ribs whenever he looks at Dean. It’s not the same as the pleased feeling he gets when he thinks he has a friend in the angels, and he doesn’t get the same feeling when he looks at Sam. It’s just _Dean_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Pappcave's Reverse!Verse](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/Papp%27s-reverse%21verse). Papp has written a few things for it already (found at the link above) - part of Castiel's past included. 
> 
> And he was nice enough to do extra art for this fic too! Go give him some love!
> 
>  
> 
> **Updates the 15th and 30th of every month until the story is complete. And no, I'm sorry, I don't know how long it will be. For chapter statuses and information, please[check here.](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hunting+for+faith)**

“Alistair.”

Castiel realizes with a cold chill that _this_ is the demon that Dean and Sam had been speaking about at the Laundromat earlier. There’s certainly a different air around him than the black-eyed men and women gathering at his sides. Many of them Castiel recognizes as people from town and something clenches in his chest, anger pooling behind his ribs. Even if they’re not parishioners of his Church, they’re still members of his town – friends and family of the faithful. Castiel knows their husbands and wives, their sons and daughters.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, an exorcism or simply to verbalize his anger. He doesn’t know what he would have said. Sam’s hand tightens around his shoulder to the point that it’s almost painful. Castiel glances at him to find that Sam doesn’t even look at him when he shakes his head.

“You know my name. I’m touched.” Alistair speaks for the first time and the voice is cruel, twisted and lisping with a taint that Castiel can _hear_. “You’ve caused me so many problems, it’s not really fair that I don’t know yours. Care to share?”

“Fuck off.” Dean answers resolutely, voice still layered and sending chills down Castiel’s spine. “There aren’t any seals here and we’re not bugging you.”

“True.” He cocks his head to the side and even though he doesn’t have pupils Castiel can _feel_ that his eyes are on him. “But that doesn’t change that you two _renegades_ are constant thorns in my side. You’ve pushed our plans back by _years_. Some of those seals were time sensitive and another chance to break them doesn’t come along every day, you know.”

Dean moves over a step, shielding Castiel more with his body. “Leave us alone.”

“Our mutual acquaintances would rather I didn’t.” Castiel can still see Alistair’s smarmy smirk over Dean’s shoulder. “You’re just as much a pain in the ass to them as you are to us, and they want you out of our hair just as much as I do.”

Sam’s fingers tighten again and Castiel winces, barely holding back a pained hiss. “What are you talking about? Who are you working with?”

Alistair makes a quiet clicking noise with his tongue and he shakes his head. “If I revealed all my party tricks that would spoil all our fun.” He tilts his head again and this time his grin is wide and teasing, and it sends another chill down Castiel’s spine when he feels those white eyes shift to him once again. “I have to admit that I am surprised our acquaintances never warned you about developing attachments to things that are so… _fleeting_.”

Castiel is hardly given the time to think and realize that Alistair is talking about _him_ before Dean turns around and grabs him by the front of his shirt. He jerks him forward and Castiel stumbles into him, the world tilting and changing channels in a blink again. It takes a moment for Castiel to realize that he’s leaning heavily against Dean’s chest and even with all the confusion filling his head, there’s something fluttery and almost nervous twisting in his stomach.

Once he gets his feet back under him and some distance between them, Castiel glances around what he immediately recognizes as his bedroom. “Why did you bring me home?” He turns back to Dean, surprised to find Sam standing behind him and holding the basket of clean clothes.

“It wasn’t safe for you.” Dean answers, turning to face Sam. “You got the car?”

“It’s outside.” Sam puts the basket on the bed and looks back up at Dean with the closest thing to _worried_ that Castiel has ever seen on his face. “Dean, how did Alistair find –”

Dean makes a sharp gestures with his hand and Castiel frowns at his back. If they’re hiding things from him again, he’s going to be more than simply ‘upset’ with them. Demons are almost literally at his door and they’re actually possessing people he _knows_. This is one of the absolute worst times for Dean to start with the secret keeping again. A line has been crossed, the stakes have changed, and Dean just can’t do that anymore.

Castiel reaches out for Dean’s shoulder, intent on pulling him around to face him, but Dean takes a step out of his reach and grabs Sam’s arm instead. He barely even looks over his shoulder when he gives a curt four word order not to leave the grounds. His words are still hanging in the air when they both disappear with that soft rustling-flapping sound that he is quickly realizing is the sound of their _wings_. Castiel is left alone in his bedroom, his hand outstretched and the violent urge to swear loudly bubbling in his throat while his fingers twitch with the need to throw something.

He drops his arm to his side and his fingers curl and uncurl repeatedly into fists as he counts backwards from one hundred until he’s calmed down. Castiel doesn’t bother to wonder if they’re going to come back, or where they went. His best guess is that they went back to deal with Alistair and since their phones are sitting on top of the stack of shirts in his basket, he can assume that they will be back for them and soon.

Just because he’s calmed down doesn’t mean that he’s not still upset by this. Dean should have let him stay and fight. There’s a secret cache of weapons and holy water in the back of the car, and Castiel is practically fluent in Latin. He has every exorcism he’s found in the books in the basement memorized and he is an _asset_ in a fight against demons. Castiel can only hope that Sam and Dean’s methods of removing demons leaves the meat suits alive and well, if not slightly traumatized. He’s learned in his time as pseudo hunter that a priest is always good to have on hand when someone is returning to themselves after being possessed.

Standing around his bedroom and glaring at the clothes basket makes Castiel feel like an idiot. There are things he could be doing and hopefully by the time that he’s done with those things, Sam and Dean will have returned. For the time being, he should do something that will distract him so he won’t be so _angry_ with them when they do come back.

He starts with the phones. Castiel sits on the edge of the bed and pushes buttons carefully until he finds the address book in one phone and can add his own cell phone number into it. For safety’s sake, he adds Balthazar’s and the number for the Church phone in his office. The process is repeated on the other phone and then Castiel calls his cell phone from both, the numbers flashing on the call display. He doesn’t know which phone belongs to Sam and which is Dean’s, so he leaves the numbers unlabeled for now but he makes sure that the numbers are in both phones too. Naming them will have to wait until they come back and claim their phones.

By the time that Dean and Sam do show up in the kitchen again, clothes mussed and blood on their faces, Castiel is sitting at the table with an untouched cup of coffee. His clothes are put away and the phones are sitting in the middle of the table, waiting for their owners to return. The moment they appear, he is on his feet and across the kitchen before he even realizes it.

“You’re hurt.” Castiel touches Dean’s chin under his split lip, ignoring how Dean’s eyes go wide and his mouth opens slightly. He’s fairly certain he’s imagining the blush on Dean’s cheeks, but he can feel an answering one heating the back of his neck and he subverts it by glancing at Sam, taking in the blood dripping from his nose. “I’ll get you some cloths to –”

Dean gently takes his wrist and pulls his hand away, a faint smile lifting his lips. “We’re fine, Cas. Just give us a minute and we’ll be good as new again.”

Of course. Angels and their healing. He didn’t exactly forget that, but a lifetime of reacting to injuries a certain way doesn’t just change overnight. Castiel quickly composes himself and steps away again, fighting the blush that threatens to rise in his cheeks and trying hard to ignore why his wrist is tingling where Dean touched the exposed skin. He returns to his cup of coffee and Sam takes the extra chair at the table as Dean leans against the counter. Sam picks up one of the phones and Castiel takes the other back, busying himself with checking the numbers.

“What happened with Alistair? How did he know you were here?” Castiel asks without looking at either of them, his eyes on the phones in his hands as he labels the numbers correctly now that he knows their owners. Looking at Dean makes something new and unnerving twist in his stomach and he wants to avoid it for as long as possible. “And don’t you _dare_ try and say that you can’t tell me.”

He glances up for a moment when Sam moves, looking down at the screen on his phone and Castiel assumes he’s checking to see what he did to it previously. “Apparently a demon saw us while we were with you in town and notified him. They can’t see _who_ we are, but they can definitely see _what_ we are and that tipped them off to our location.”

“He took off after we exorcised his underlings.” Dean shrugs and catches his phone when Castiel tosses it to him. “He may be a white-eyes, but he doesn’t stand a chance alone against _two_ angels. If it was one on one, he’d be able to hold his ground well enough.”

Sam huffs and glares at Dean while Castiel takes his phone back to repeat the process. “Yeah, ‘well enough’ my ass. Do I have to remind you about the time you _did_ take him on by yourself and he nearly killed you before I got there? It’s a great story, Cas. See, we split up for a search once and Dean got wind of the seal before I did, so he –”

“ _Sam_.” Dean hisses. “Shut your cake hole.”

“I will when you stop sugar coating things to ‘protect’ him.” Sam snaps back.

“I don’t need protecting.” Castiel answers automatically, leaning over the table to hand Sam his phone. “And I could have stayed and helped. The car has –”

“No.” Dean cuts him off firmly, jaw set. It immediately puts Castiel’s teeth on edge and he narrows a glare at him. “Alistair is in a whole different league than the demons you’ve dealt with before and the black-eyes he orders around aren’t your average run of the mill ones either. You would’ve been out of your depths with them.”

Castiel can feel that dark burn of anger building in his chest again and he gets to his feet so he’s on even ground with Dean. He may only be human, but there’s only an inch or two difference in their height and he’ll face Dean while he’s standing to make him _know_ he can’t look down on him. “I know exorcisms. I have weapons and holy water and I can _fight_.”

“No, you’re going to _stay here_.” Dean shoves his phone into his pocket and steps away from the counter. In one step the blood is gone from his face and clothes. “You’ve got the property protected against demons and you’re safest here.”

“I’m not _staying_ any–”

Dean cuts him off again, this time by turning to Sam and Castiel has to bite his tongue to keep from saying some very not nice things. “Do you think we can ward this place against everything? Make it so _they_ can’t see Cas either?”

“You really think they’re working with the demons?” Sam asks quietly, getting to his feet again.

Castiel hates it when they talk like he’s not here or that he’s lesser than them. He could probably hazard a few guesses at who the ‘them’ is that they’re trying to be secretive about. His first guess would probably be the right one and thinking that makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. The first time he met Sam was after he’d be hurt by _angels_. The combination of Alistair’s hints about mutual acquaintances and Castiel’s prior knowledge leaves him feeling queasy.

“Why would _angels_ be working with _demons_?” He asks it quietly and is more than slightly – smugly – satisfied when they both look at him in surprise. It always feels nice proving to them that he’s smarter and more useful than they give him credit for.

“I don’t know.” Dean finally answers with a shrug and shoves a hand through his hair, the rosary clinking on his wrist. He lowers his arm to stare at it for a few moments before gesturing at Sam and the wall. “Do your thing under the paint. I’ll take care of Cas.”

“Excuse me?” Castiel frowns and takes a step back when Dean turns to him. “What do you mean? What are you going to do?”

Sam goes to the small stretch of wall between the basement and the back doors and places both hands against it. Castiel’s attention turns from him to Dean when a hand gets pressed to his chest. Anything he might have said is lost to the stinging pain that spreads through his very _bones_. It’s centered under Dean’s hand and spreads over his ribs. Castiel gasps for breath when Dean drops his hand and he staggers back a step to put distance between them.

“What did you _do_?” He touches the place Dean’s hand had been. The pain faded almost immediately, but his nerves tingle with the memory of it.

“The same thing Sam is doing to this place.” Dean tilts his head and Castiel looks. For a brief moment symbols glow on the wall, shining through the paint under Sam’s hands before they fade. One of them Castiel recognizes as the sigil Dean had painted with blood the last time he was here. “You’re protected from angels now, like a ghost on their radar. They won’t be able to sense you or find you unless someone leads them straight here. If you see anyone who looks pretentious and they’re wearing a suit, you get your ass into the Church where it’s protected from angels and you call us.”

Castiel glances between them, another frown – and he does that more these days than he likes – creasing his forehead. “Why would angels come after _me_?”

“If Alistair really is in league with them, there’s every chance that he’ll tell them he saw us with you.” Sam explains as he goes around the table to stand next to Dean again. “Then they’ll use you to find us.”

“But that doesn’t explain why angels are working with demons. I thought that you were trying to stop the apocalypse.”

“ _We_ are.” Dean puts his hands in his pockets and glances at his brother. Sam gives him an encouraging nod and Dean’s expression goes tight and troubled before he looks back to Castiel. When he speaks, it’s with the sense that he’s forcing the words out – saying something he doesn’t want to. “It’s the rest of them that we’re not so sure about.”

That’s probably the biggest piece of information that Dean has ever given him. He’s tried to keep Castiel in the dark with so much and he just shed light on the entire reason they’re hiding from heaven. Castiel feels an odd mix of gratitude for finally being told something _useful_ and horror that angels might actually be working to bring about the apocalypse.

“That’s why we’re down here.” Sam says softly and Dean goes tense next to him, looking down at the floor instead of Castiel. “We learned from our contacts in heaven about how there were seals being broken and we thought it was weird that we hadn’t heard anything about it yet, so we looked into it.”

Dean’s face twitches and he makes an unhappy noise before he picks up where Sam left off. “We were told that it was being dealt with covertly since a pending apocalypse would end up causing some kind of a panic. But when we told our contacts, they turned around and proved that we were lied to, and we decided to take matters into our own hands.”

“So you went into hiding to stop the seals?”

“Not completely. We came down to find –” Sam’s sentence is ended in a whoosh of air as Dean’s elbow connects with his side. “What the hell was that for?”

“I agreed to tell Cas _more_ , not tell him _everything_.” Dean hisses at him. “If he knows _that_ then we’re going to be painting a giant target on his back.”

Castiel’s fists the front of his shirt before he drops his hands to his sides and tries to keep his voice steady as the familiar anger returns. “I already have one. Alistair saw my face. The demons he had with him were possessing people I _know_. They had access to their memories and they’ll have my name which means _Alistair_ will have my name. Whether you wanted it or not, Dean, I became a part of this the day you walked in the Church doors.”

It occurs to him then that he hasn’t asked about the townspeople yet. He makes a note to ask if they’re okay as soon as he has the chance.

He’s not expecting the look of pain that passes over Dean’s face before he shakes his head. “Alistair’s goons aren’t going to be able to tell him shit about you. When angels exorcise a demon, we kill the demon permanently.”

And here’s his chance. “And are they okay? The people they were possessing. Are they going to be alright? Did you take them home or leave them there?” Castiel hopes they didn’t just leave a group of traumatized people standing around in the middle of the road without any idea how they got there. Oftentimes victims don’t remember being possessed, but they still retain the fear that something happened to them until they remember – if ever.

Sam and Dean share a look that doesn’t inspire much hope. Dean looks back at him and shifts his weight, as if he’s uneasy with the answer he’s about to give. “Cas, the vessels - they’re not strong enough to survive a demon being burned out of them. If we want to kill the demon, the vessel has to die with them.”

“If that’s a joke, it’s a very poor one.” Castiel curls his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “You can’t just _kill_ innocent people like that! An exorcism would have removed the demon and saved them. You could have -”

“It doesn’t work like that, Cas. Not right now.” Dean doesn’t look any happier about the information than Castiel feels. “It would take more power than we’re able to use for us to be able to kill a demon outside of a vessel.”

“Then you should have let the demons go. Exorcised them and let them run off.” He hisses, his face growing hot. “Those were people with families. They were parents and children themselves. You let them _die_ -”

“We had to.” Sam interjects softly, the same pain Castiel feels in his heart showing on his face. “If we let the demons go, they would have just possessed someone else and come back for us - for _you_. And just because those demons are dead doesn’t mean that Alistair won’t try and find you again to get to us. It’s easier to find a human than it is an angel. You should –”

“Stay put.” Dean say sharply, shrugging Sam’s hand off his shoulder. “You’re protected from angels and demons here, and if you have to go to town or something you call Sam or me and we’ll escort you.”

Castiel’s anger magnifies at that. He understands that they’re worried for his safety, just as he sometimes feels worried for them. Now that he knows there are demons like Alistair out there that can fight an angel equally, and that there are angels who have already hurt Sam, he’s going to be worried about them more than he has been already. But that doesn’t mean that they need to be so protective of him. He’s had vampires come after him because of Balthazar before and handled it just fine. It’s not like Castiel is made of glass. He’s a living, breathing, _capable_ fighter. He’s a survivor. They don’t need to treat him like he’s something precious and fragile. Even if that’s what humans seem like to angels.

None of that excuses massacring innocent people just for his sake. How is he supposed to explain that to the families? Castiel is the one who is going to have to officiate the funerals. He’s the one who’s going to have to deal with the heartbroken. This could have been avoided. All of it. And it’s his fault. If he hadn’t taken Sam and Dean with him today, those people would still be alive. If he had sent them away sooner, if they weren’t _friends_ -

“We’ve gotta go.” Dean looks back at Sam before Castiel can say anything more. “We’ve got to make sure Alistair isn’t going to track us back here and we’re going to lay false trails everywhere so they won’t find you. Don’t leave the property.”

Sam makes a frustrated face at Dean’s back when he turns away, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. The look he gives Castiel seconds later is one of apology and regret as Dean disappears without another word and he follows, leaving Castiel alone in the kitchen with rage and guilt simmering under his skin and no angels to yell at to alleviate it. The way Dean thinks of him and treats him is annoying. The way he just up and leaves when it’s convenient for him is _infuriating_ and Castiel wants to scream at him for it. He wants to yell at them for the lives they took today that could have been spared if they just let him _do his job_.

But they’re already gone and all Castiel can do is grab the untouched mug on the table and immediately regret his actions the moment it smashes against the wall, ceramic pieces scattering across the floor and coffee splashing everywhere. The regret overtakes the frustration and Castiel is left feeling empty as he starts to clean up the mess, although the guilt doesn’t leave and the loss of innocent lives makes tears prickle in the corners of his eyes.

It’s only after he’s gathered the shards, just as he’s going to dump them into the garbage can, when he fully realizes that the mug he broke is the one that Dean had favoured the last time he was here. It’s the one he was drinking coffee from every morning and he’d made sure it was cleaned properly after breakfast, ready for use the next day. The realization leaves a sour taste in his mouth and a pang of pain in his chest.

There are so many things about Sam and Dean that Castiel doesn’t understand and yet he still trusts them. Even now, after he knows that they’ll kill an innocent vessel rather than let a demon escape, he trusts them. He may not forgive them, but he _trusts_ them. He just wishes that they could trust _him_. If Dean considers him a friend then he should act like it aside from the times when it’s convenient for him. Despite all the new information that Dean opened up with tonight (and that was all apparently at Sam’s insistence), he’s still keeping so much from Castiel and he’s continues to treat him like he’s inferior, like he can’t do anything.

Castiel _hates_ being treated like he’s useless. Worst of all he hates that unknown fluttery feeling under his ribs whenever he looks at Dean. It’s not the same as the pleased feeling he gets when he thinks he has a friend in the angels, and he doesn’t get the same feeling when he looks at Sam. It’s just _Dean_.

Dean, who is making himself comfortable in his vessel. Dean, who is so frustratingly protective of Castiel yet still doesn’t trust him enough to be able to take care of himself, let alone to share the information that has Dean hiding for his life from his own kind. Dean, who he enjoys talking to and watching all the different reactions he has to everything that Castiel has taken for granted in his life.

Dean, who keeps making flirty comments and even though Castiel might not catch all of them, he certainly picks up on some of them. When he first noticed it, Castiel thought it was because Dean was doing it to ruffle Balthazar’s feathers. But now, while he’s crouched and wiping up the coffee and he has the chance to stop and think back on all the time he’s spent with Dean, he realizes that isn’t the case.

If he’s right, Castiel thinks Dean might have been flirting with him from the moment he first showed up. The little comments and compliments occurred throughout the whole day before Balthazar arrived and they didn’t get any worse or more obvious after that unless Dean was pointedly trying to mess with either one of them.

Realizing that makes it suddenly clear why Balthazar kept telling Dean to leave Castiel alone. More specifically, Balthazar kept telling him to ‘keep his paws off’. It’s Balthazar extreme reactions to almost everything that Dean says to Castiel that stayed his hand from calling him this morning when they showed up. He should have and normally he would have, but what would Balthazar have been able to do? He’s supposed to be somewhere in Louisiana right now. He never would have been able to get here in time to do anything. And Castiel didn’t want his unhappy mood ruining time that he would enjoy spending with his friends.

Besides, just because Dean flirts with Castiel doesn’t mean that he’s actually _interested_. He’d made several flirty comments with the widow running the Laundromat while they were there. It got him extra cookies after lunch and that might have been his goal in the first place, but that doesn’t change that he was flirting with someone else.

It’s entirely possible that flirting is just a part of his personality, just like with Balthazar. Not to mention that Dean is an _angel_ , for one thing, and Castiel is a priest. He’s made his vows and despite a few childhood crushes while he was growing up at the orphanage, he’s never actually been interested or even attracted to anyone – certainly not a man and _especially_ not an angel wearing the body of one.

Castiel mutters a few swears under his breath and drops his chin to his chest. He doesn’t like wasting energy thinking about things like this. He’s already had his thoughts go in circles about Dean and his flirting once before only for that to lead nowhere, and nothing has changed. There’s no point in even trying to talk to Dean about it either.

If Castiel does broach the subject, where would that conversation lead? Either it does end up just being a part of Dean’s personality, and that ends with him possibly being insulted that Castiel would even consider the idea that he’s interested in him as anything beyond a friend, or Dean really _is_ attracted to Castiel and he’s flirting with a goal in mind. In which case that is an entirely moot end to the conversation because Castiel isn’t – he’s _not_ –

“Enough!” Castiel shakes his head hard, hoping to dislodge those thoughts as he throws down the rag he’d been using to clean up the coffee.

He needs something to get his mind off insensitive, stubborn angels. He needs to get out of _here_ because everything just eventually brings his mind back to thinking about Dean. And no matter what it is, he ends up thinking about something that just irritates him or confuses him or terrifies him in a way that Castiel isn’t even sure _how_. The thinking needs to stop and he needs to get out and vent some steam somehow, somewhere.

His phone is already in his hands and ringing by the time that thought finishes processing and Balthazar doesn’t even manage to get a ‘hello’ in. “I’m ready for that vacation now.”

“The angel got your panties in a twist again, did he?”

“Shut up and come pick me up.”

Balthazar laughs and there’s the sound of the car door in the background. “I would, Cassie, but I’m in the middle of a hunt right now. I’ve got some locals to interrogate at the moment. If he’s upsetting you, tell him to piss off.”

“They’re not here anymore. How soon can you get here?”

“They were there and you didn’t call me? Cassie, I’m disappointed.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and slumps into the chair in his office. “Don’t call me that, and I’m not going to call you every time they drop in for a visit. Now come get me.”

Balthazar’s laugh is grating and not helping the tension headache Castiel can feel building between his eyes. “Give me a week to wrap things up. You need to get a replacement anyways, don’t you?”

That’s right. He needs to contact the diocese and arrange for someone to come replace him for the time that he’ll be gone. And then he’s going to need to hide all the things that pertain to the supernatural side of his life, including all the weapons and making sure that the basement won’t be discovered. There’s a cabinet in the basement of the Church he uses for that.

“Then I’ll see you in a week.”

“Are you sure that you’ll still want a vacation then?”

Castiel stops and he wonders if Dean and Sam might drop in again before then. It sends a confusing mix of anger and anticipation spiraling through his chest. Either feeling just makes him more upset and Castiel nearly hisses his ‘yes’ into the phone. Their conversation doesn’t last long past that. Balthazar is actually approaching the home of someone he has to interview, dressed as an FBI agent, and their conversation ends with loose plans for him to come in a week and they’ll find a hunt with something that requires a vicious beheading to make Castiel feel better.

The rest of Castiel’s day is spent making all the necessary phone calls to get a temporary replacement. He tries sleeping that night, but his mind just keeps cycling back to the innocent victims from today. It’s only a matter of time before someone finds the bodies and he’s probably going to be questioned about it. The Church is the only place between Flanagan and Pontiac and even though it’s at least a good ten minute drive from where the attack occurred, someone is bound to come out this way.

His expectations aren’t wrong. The morning arrives with two police officers at his door. He invites them in for coffee and acts properly upset when he finds out about the ‘mysterious murders’. Castiel knows the routine, he knows what to do and say and he spent half the night planning what he would tell anyone who asked. He had even sent a text to Sam with a summary of what their alibi would be if he got questioned about it. As soon as the text was sent, he deleted it to hide the evidence and he erased Sam’s response confirming that he would share the information with Dean.

The false story mentions that on the drive home from town, Castiel saw the group of people standing together on the side of the road. A few of them he recognized from town and they waved when he passed. He thought it was a bit of an odd place for a gathering, but he didn’t stop because he had his friends with him and they were going to go home for supper before they left again. They were hoping to return to Pontiac before nightfall. Castiel makes sure that the time he says they left would conflict with the time of death, ensuring that he is their alibi and they are his. Hopefully that and his reputation in the community will be enough.

He’s not entirely comfortable about handing over Dean and Sam’s phone numbers for the officers to call them and corroborate his story, but it’s necessary. Just like how he feels a little guilty for outright lying to them while wearing his clerical collar. But it’s not the first time he’s had to do and it certainly won’t be the last.

The officers leave with quiet goodbyes and warm smiles, ensuring Castiel that they’re just doing their duty and they’re sure that everything is fine. It’s the same kind of response he’s heard Balthazar give (and given himself, what few times he’s been hunting) when he’s leaving the home of a lead that turned out to be a dead end.

As soon as they’re gone, he sends more texts to Sam, filling him in on all the information he just gave the police including the times when they were supposed to have left and to let Dean know too. He sends multiple messages reminding them not to invent new information and to stick to the story but not to say the exact same thing otherwise that might make the police suspicious.

Halfway through the messages he sends to Sam, he gets one from Dean.

_Why don’t you just send the messages to me too instead of going through Sam?_

Castiel frowns at the message. He doesn’t want to talk to Dean and if he could avoid it, he wouldn’t be talking to Sam either at the moment. He’s still angry with the both of them and he hasn’t forgiven them yet. Taking innocent lives that could have been saved if they just _trusted him_ to be able to carry his own weight in a fight might be something that he’ll never be able to forgive them for. He deletes all the messages to cover his tracks after reminding Sam to do the same. And he doesn’t answer Dean’s. He’s mad at him for various reasons and this is as good as any way to punish him for it.

If he was any angrier, he might even ward the rectory against angels.

In the week before Balthazar arrives, Castiel hides every weapon he can find in the rectory’s basement. He’s not going to take any chances that his replacement will accidentally stumble on anything. He also replaces the majority of the books in his bedroom, specifically the ones that don’t exactly fall on the Church’s approved reading list.

In between his preparations, he officiates the funerals of the people who died. He speaks throughout the sermons with a heavy heart. Knowing who killed them and how they died and not being able to tell their families to give them the closure they need is hard on him. This isn’t even the first time he’s had to do it. There have been vampires and werewolves who have come through this way before and he’s dispatched them the moment he caught wind. It doesn’t make this any easier.

Castiel spends what little spare time he has researching for potential jobs that he and Balthazar can do in the two weeks that he decided to take as his vacation time. What he’s _really_ looking for, while sorting through the hundreds of books in the basement on the nights that he doesn’t sleep, is information on seals. There’s a small, vindictive part of him that wants to find a seal and take care of it before Sam and Dean do. It’s the part of him that _needs_ to show them that he’s capable, that he’s able to take care of the same things they do while still being a human.

He’s never had this desire to prove himself like this before and Castiel isn’t sure if he likes this part of him. Even so, he’s exceptionally pleased when he finds one that they would be able to get to and has the potential of taking place in the next few weeks. It has something to do with multiple virgin sacrifices and their blood being spilled upon the steps to the Devil’s Gate in the light of a full hunter’s moon. The irony of that is not lost on him.

A quick internet search reveals that there is a natural rock formation in Wyoming called The Devil’s Gate. It’s the only one that comes back with his search and it’s sixteen hours away by car if they drive straight there. Another internet search shows that there hasn’t been any undue mass murders there in the last twenty years. It’s serendipity.

Castiel knows that the fire at the orphanage was the first seal. And he knows that demons have probably been breaking seals all over the place since then. But he thinks they might have been taking their time doing it – trying to stay under the radar from hunters and angels alike. He doesn’t know what changed or why, but Castiel suspects that the reason the demons are breaking so many now is because they’re getting close to letting Lucifer out. It’s a subject he might have to broach with Dean and Sam, and it’s a conversation that he doesn’t look forward to.

With the information about the seal and a list of jobs between here and Wyoming, Castiel makes a schedule and tucks that away with everything that he’s going to bring with him. Balthazar is probably going to mock him for having an actual schedule, but he doesn’t care. It’ll be helpful and if they can stick to it, then they should hopefully be arriving at The Devil’s Gate _before_ the night of the full hunter’s moon and they might be able to prevent it from happening before Dean and Sam show up – if they do.

The night before his replacement is supposed to arrive, he brings up a cabinet and hutch from the basement of the Church to place in front of the door to the basement – after removing the knob and ensuring that it is very much locked. Castiel covers the hutch in various things from the boxes in the basement of the Church. Things from dishware to kitschy knick knacks and he fills the bottom cabinet with spare baking implements from his own overstocked cupboards, organizing everything to make it look more natural.

Castiel has two duffle bags ready for his trip. One is full of weapons and a few books to read during the trip, and the other full of his clothes. He has a suit in a travel bag hanging on the back of the door, prepared for if they need to pretend to be government agents and the only thing that he’s been debating about almost constantly is if he should let Dean and Sam know that he’s not going to be here for a few weeks. It was their insistence that he stay here to stay safe that led him to make the decision to take this little vacation. He doesn’t need to be protected and he’s going to prove it to them.

The last thing that he thinks about, as he’s having his morning coffees before the replacement arrives, is if he should wear his clerical collar while he’s out with Balthazar. He doesn’t usually wear it with his casual clothes and Balthazar does tend to frequent bars when they stop for the night. He won’t be wearing it while they’re masquerading as agents. Really, the only time that he’s going to need to wear it is if they need him to play the priest card for anything.

His replacement priest is an older gentleman who arrives before morning mass. He has a kind smile and he crosses over the trap painted under the kitchen tiles without issues.  He’s also very talkative and introduces himself as Father Maurice. Castiel can barely get a word in edgewise beyond the brief tour of the rectory and the Church. The morning mass is small, but he introduces Father Maurice to them anyways and explains that he’s taking a small vacation to spend time with family. He even lets Father Maurice conduct the mass.

Balthazar arrives in time for lunch and they leave after it. The last thing Castiel does is stick his cell phone number to the fridge, right under the picture of him and Balthazar. They’re not even on the road for ten minutes before Balthazar turns the music down.

“I hope you realize that Maury back there probably thinks that we’re lovers.”

Castiel doesn’t even look up from his book. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Did you miss the looks he was giving us when we left? I’m pretty sure he does.”

“He knows that you’re my brother.”

“He knows that I have an accent and you don’t, and we look nothing alike.”

“I’m not gay.”

“How would you know?” Balthazar’s answer is quick. Too quick. And that makes Castiel think this was his goal from the first syllable. “You’re so sexually repressed I wouldn’t be surprised if even your dreams have given up trying to get a rise out of you. When was the last time you even got your rocks off? Have you ever even stopped to _think_ about what or _who_ you might like?”

Castiel sighs and closes his book, tilting his head back against the headrest. This is a part of a conversation between them that Balthazar has plagued him with since he joined the seminary. “We literally _just_ started this ‘vacation’. Can we not do this?”

“I just want you to be happy, Cassie.”

“I _am_ happy. Not everyone needs sexual gratification for that, and I wouldn’t have made my vows if this wasn’t the life I wanted.” He slouches in his seat to prop his knees up against the dashboard. “If Father Maurice wants to think that we’re lovers, let him. I know the truth and it’s not going to bother me. If it bothers you, perhaps _you_ should be analyzing yourself.”

Balthazar makes a snorting, incredulous sound. “It doesn’t bother me!”

“Then you shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place.” He waits for a beat before adding. “And if that was an attempt at finding out whether or not I’m attracted to Dean, then you can let me off here and find the nearest bridge to drive your stupid car off of.”

That earns him a choking sound and the car swerves slightly before Balthazar rights it. “Where would you even –”

“I’m fully aware of all the flirting he does and how opposed you are to it.” Castiel tilts his head to look at him, taking in the unhappy bend of his lips. “Which, frankly, I don’t understand. You’re always so adamant that I break my vows and live a little, and you fully support my parishioners whenever I tell you that they’re flirting with me. I don’t see why _Dean’s_ flirting is any different.”

“He’s worlds different, Cassie.” Balthazar bites out, his knuckles going white over the steering wheel. “For starters, he’s a bloody _angel_ and he’s a giant prick.” He reaches over and turns on the radio again, cranking it to a decibel that can only mean that the conversation is done.

Castiel takes it as a victory and returns to his book. Of course, now that Balthazar has opened a can of worms that he’s trying to run away from, Castiel isn’t going to just let this go. He bookmarks this conversation in his mind and he waits until after the salt and burn they do that night a few towns over and after they get a decent amount of sleep.

It comes up again while they’re reclining across from one another in a booth at the back of a nameless bar the next evening. Castiel nurses his first beer and waits until Balthazar has had a few glasses of brandy before he broaches the subject again. He’s more likely to talk once he’s got some liqueur in him.

There isn’t a particularly good reason for bringing it up again. It’s not like Castiel is searching for Balthazar’s approval for a relationship with Dean. He’d have to want that to start with before he could even think about asking what Balthazar thought of it. And even if he does notice a marked increase in his heart rate at that thought, there are a number of reasons that something like that just isn’t plausible and there’s no reason for Castiel to even think about it anyway.

No. He’s only mentioning this again because he wants to know why Balthazar doesn’t like Dean. That’s all. Aside from the noted lack of trust and Dean’s inability to believe that humans are capable of anything, Castiel does consider Dean and Sam to be his friends – however tentative that relationship may be. And he does enjoy spending time with them. Demon surprises aside, laundry day – which is never a task that Castiel likes doing – was a pleasant affair and it had passed quickly. If possible, Castiel thinks that he would like to spend more time like that with them.

Although Dean has his abrasive side, he doesn’t invoke the same visceral dislike in Castiel that it does with Balthazar. It’s both intriguing and worrying and Castiel wants to poke at it. He wants to peel away the layers and find out _why_. It takes three brandies before he allows himself to even mention Dean’s name, but Balthazar interrupts before Castiel can even get out the first word.

“How come you decided you needed this vacation?” Balthazar isn’t even looking at him, his head turned to look out at the rest of the bar while he lazily plays with the near empty glass on the table top. “It has something to do with Dean, I know that much. Sam too, probably.” He looks back at Castiel, eyes bright and calculating, and Castiel realizes three brandies was definitely not enough. “Does it have anything to do with that ‘massacre’ in the papers? It happened barely ten minutes from the Church, and on the same day that you called me.”

Castiel looks down at his bottle of beer, rolling it carefully between his palms. If there’s one person in this world that he can tell about what happened, it’s Balthazar. He finishes his beer and orders another, taking a long pull from that before they lean over the table to put their heads together and he tells the story in a lowered voice. The bar may be loud and full of boisterous drunks, but it’s still entirely possible that someone might overhear them and they don’t want any trouble.

He tells Balthazar almost everything, starting from when Sam and Dean arrived in the morning, showing up unannounced in his kitchen, to when they left him alone in nearly the same spot with the orders that he shouldn’t leave the premises and the news that all the vessels of those demons were dead. The only thing that he omits is telling Balthazar about how they protected the rectory and him from being found by angels. Castiel details the majority of the day before he sits back and finishes his beer.

Reciting everything leaves him with the same angry burn nestled in his chest like it did before, and he feels bad for not telling Balthazar everything. But if he tells him that demons _and_ angels might try and go through him to get to Sam and Dean, he’ll likely have to deal with a freak out that he doesn’t want to handle right now – especially not in a public place.

Balthazar sits back too and it takes him another brandy and a glass of rum and coke before he opens his mouth again. This time it’s a stream of profanity and outright dislike for Dean and Sam. Castiel ignores it all until he gets his third beer. The only thing he actually catches is every time Balthazar tells him that he shouldn’t associate with them anymore.

“It’s not like there haven’t been people before who were turned against their will that we had to take care of.” Castiel interjects quietly, bringing Balthazar’s tirade to a stuttering halt. “I’ll admit that I’m mad that they didn’t let me help and that we could have at least _tried_ to save those people – even if it meant that Alistair would likely have ended up with more information about me.”

“That’s the only _good_ thing they did.” Balthazar hisses. “They were protecting you and that’s the only thing stopping me from going back and warding the entire place from those assholes.”

Castiel frowns and puts his beer down. “I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself, and that includes who I decide to be friends with.”

“I _know_ , Cassie. I’m well aware that you’re a big boy. What I’m trying to get across to you is that those two are bad news.” He leans over the table, arms crossed on it. “They’re all smoke and mirrors and secrets, and they’re not letting you know what the hell is going on. They’re only letting you see parts of the picture and not the whole thing. Sam may _seem_ more open, but I don’t trust either of them and I definitely don’t trust that Dean.”

“So you’re not being overprotective, you’re just being cautious about Dean?” Castiel raises an eyebrow while he rolls the idea around in his head.

Balthazar nods sharply before downing the rest of his drink. “Exactly.”

“Do you think that he – that _they_ aretrying to trick me?”

“Don’t even try that, Cassie.” He narrows his eyes while waving for the waitress to bring them another round. “I trust you and most of the time I can trust your judgment about people. You’ve had your hiccups, and so have I. If, somehow, you find that they’re worth your trust then so be it. On the other hand, _I_ don’t trust them and I’m not going to until they prove they’re not just messing with you.”

Castiel waits for the waitress to come and go before he speaks again. “Is that why you don’t like that Dean flirts with me, or that there might be the potential that I like him too?”

Balthazar nearly chokes on his drink and he slams the glass down on the table a little harder than necessary. “ _Do_ you like him?”

Something flutters under his ribs at the question and Castiel squashes it, forcing his expression to remain neutral. “As a friend, yes.” He doesn’t like how that feels suspiciously like a lie, especially since he knows that it _isn’t_.

“Then why would you bother bringing that up?”

Castiel tilts his head, regarding Balthazar over his beer. “Because it only seems to upset you when it’s Dean who flirts with me. And I want to know why you yell at him so much. I’ve never seen you shout at anyone like that – not since we were children, at least. You don’t even yell at monsters.”

Balthazar is quiet long enough for him to finish his drink. Castiel has lost track of how many that’s been, but he’s certainly sitting more sloppily now. He’s usually much more refined than this. It takes the arrival of his next round and downing half of that before Balthazar is ready to speak again.

“It’s because of what he is.” He says quietly, staring down at the table. “Put me up against a vampire or ghoul any day and I’ll barely bat an eye at it because I actually know how to kill those. I can handle them as easily as I do a car. But _him_? There’s nothing I can do against an _angel_ except raise my voice and throw around empty threats. It’s terrifying.”

It’s not long after that when Balthazar calls it quits. Castiel doesn’t know what to say and they walk in silence the few blocks to the motel. Balthazar doesn’t say anything again until he’s sitting on the edge of his bed and toeing off his shoes.

“It’s not just Dean, you know. I’d yell at any monster that tried flirting you up, Cassie.” He flops back on the bed and wiggles ridiculously to get under the covers without changing. “Angels aren’t all they’re cracked up to be and you deserve better. Monsters are just going to hurt you in the end.”

Castiel isn’t sure if it’s experience or simply the alcohol speaking, but he still pats Balthazar’s ankle through the blanket as he crosses the room to his bag. “I know. Get some sleep.” He changes into his pajamas to the tune of Balthazar’s snores. It’s familiar and even if their conversation didn’t go quite as Castiel expected it to, he’s still glad to be taking this vacation and spending some quality time with him.

As he’s putting his cell phone on the table that separates their beds, Castiel notices the little flashing symbol in the corner of the external screen indicating he has a text message. He’s not surprised that he didn’t hear it go off in the bar. He’s also not surprised to find that it’s a message from Dean.

                _Have you ever heard of poutine? Gravy and cheese on fries. Holy crap, it’s amazing._

He nearly responds with a message saying that it sounds disgusting. Instead, Castiel ignores it and sets the alarm. It does, however, lighten his mood and he falls asleep quickly. The morning comes for him hours before the sun actually rises as he’s brutally reminded of why he doesn’t drink. Nightmares filled with fire wake him, the screams as children and adults burn alive still echoing in his ears.

Balthazar always knows when Castiel has the nightmares. He never explains how, though Castiel thinks he probably makes some kind of sound while he’s sleeping. Either way, whenever he has them while they’re together, he always wakes to Balthazar sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. They’ve already talked it to death before and they don’t say anything about it now, but they both know neither of them will be getting to sleep after that. 

They’re on the road before the sun is in the sky, filling their travel mugs with the cheap coffee provided in the motel room before they go. They get more going through a drive-thru before they leave town completely, heading toward the next job on Castiel’s list. It’s a potential werewolf in a town half a day’s drive away and hopefully they should be able to deal with it in the next day or so. They’ve got a week until the hunter’s moon and they need to be in Wyoming at least by the day before.

A few hours later, just as Castiel is turning to the next chapter in his book, he gets another text message.

                _You need to buy vinegar and you need to put it on poutine. IT’S AN EXPERIENCE._

That is immediately followed with another.

                _Am I doing this texting thing right? I watched some kids do it and they type differently._

And then another.

                _I’d compare it to how you type, but you haven’t sent me any messages._

The next is from Sam.

                _He’s just going to keep messaging you until you answer. Sorry._

“Who the hell is texting you so much?” Balthazar leans over, trying to get a look at the screen on his phone.

Castiel shoves him back. “Keep your eyes on the road.”

“They are. I can count on one hand the number of people who text you and they’re all in this car.” It takes him all of half a second to make the connection. “Cassie, tell me it isn’t the angels.”

He doesn’t respond, focusing instead on typing out an answer to Dean.

                _You’re an idiot. Go back to your searching._

“Cassie, answer me.”

“Answer you with what?” He looks up, keeping the grin off his face. Balthazar hates it when he takes him literally. “You told me to tell you that it isn’t them. Telling you that would be a lie.”

Balthazar swears under his breath and his hands go tight on the steering wheel. He doesn’t say anything, but Castiel can practically see the urge bubbling inside him. Castiel smiles and looks down at the phone. “Would it help if you knew what the messages were about?” He doesn’t answer, but Castiel knows that it’s a ‘yes’. “Food. Dean is messaging me about food.”

“That was my third guess.”

“What were the first two?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Castiel punches him in the shoulder and Balthazar laughs, turning up the music again. He slides down in his chair again, knees against the dashboard, and hums along. It’s hard to read while the music is playing this loud, but Castiel doesn’t mind. It’s refreshing and different and he enjoys Balthazar’s company. Spending time with him is nice, and even if they’re going to be risking their lives soon, Castiel finds it rather relaxing.

Even two days later, when he’s standing under a street lamp in the middle of the night with a bloody machete, he still finds it relaxing. Of course it wasn’t very comforting when they found out what was supposed to be a werewolf was actually a vampire trying to build his own coven while keeping hunters off his scent. His newly turned vampires were easier to off than he was, since they were locked up in the home base and it was like – as Balthazar called it – shooting fish in a barrel.

Finding this one while he was out hunting food to bring back to his freshly turned friends was the difficult part, especially because Castiel insisted that they find him before he actually hurt anyone. At least he was good bait. A priest wandering alone through downtown alleys calling for a nonexistent dog in the middle of the night is something no self respecting vampire can resist. Unfortunately that also meant getting his Church clothes covered in blood.

He looks down at the mess on the street and winces. They’ll have to dispose of the body before someone comes along and they’ll have to do something about the blood too. Castiel shakes the excess from the machete and glances at Balthazar. The silver flask he’s tipping back flashing in the moonlight and Castiel nearly rolls his eyes.

“Can you stop drinking for _five minutes_ so we can clean this up and go?”

Balthazar holds up a finger and Castiel frowns at it, waiting until he’s done and tucking it back into whatever pocket it came from. “Celebratory drink for surviving another day, Cassie. You never mess with ritual.” He fishes the keys for the car out and tosses them to him. “Bring the car around.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, catching the keys and heading off in the direction of the car. Balthazar is crouched next to the body when he pulls up and they wrap the body in plastic sheeting before putting it in the backseat. For the hundredth time since he bought the car, Castiel berates Balthazar on getting something that didn’t have more trunk space. The familiar argument covers style instead of functionality and Balthazar ends it by shoving Castiel into the driver’s seat after they empty the tiny trunk of the bleach and items that he’ll need to clean the blood from the streets.  

“You get the body back to the dump site and I’ll take care of the blood. I’ll meet you back at the motel.”

The dump site is a ‘mass grave’ they spent the previous night digging well out of town. It’s already full with the bodies of the freshly turned vampires, heads kept separate. Castiel pulls the car up next to it and shoves the body out of the backseat and directly into the grave. After moving the car, he dumps an entire canister of gasoline over the bodies, lights up a match book, and tosses it in. He doesn’t stick around to watch it burn.

There’s a handful of text messages and a half dozen missed calls waiting for him when he slides back into the driver’s seat. They’re from both Dean and Sam, although Dean makes up the majority of them.

                _Who the hell is the old guy in your kitchen?_

_He nearly saw us. Where are you?_

_Cas? Are you okay?_

_Cas, pick up the phone._

_Answer the fucking phone, Cas!_

_If you’re still upset with Dean, could you at least answer me so he’ll calm down?_

_We’re both worried. Please answer. When Dean hid you, you were hidden from us too._

Castiel waits until he’s back at the motel to answer the phone calls that continue to ring throughout the drive. He doesn’t even bother to check if it’s Sam or Dean when he flips the phone open and presses the pick-up button.

“Calm down. I’m not dead.”

The string of swears that follows are far more blasphemous than Castiel would expect from an angel. And they don’t stop, though they do get less sacrilegious and more personal, continuing in the background as Castiel assumes the phone is taken away.

“Cas?” Sam sounds worried when he speaks over Dean’s swearing. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Castiel answers as he pins the phone between his ear and shoulder to free up his hands while he starts undoing his shirt. It will need to be soaked right away if he wants to keep it from staining. “I’m on vacation.”

“Vacation?” Sam’s voice turns confused and Dean gets louder in the background.

“We told you to _stay put_! How hard was that to understand?”

Castiel rolls his eyes, fingers working at his belt now. “I was upset. I needed a vacation. I’m taking one now. Dean can take his overprotective concern and –” He cuts himself off before he says anything offensive. “Neither of you seems to realize that I can take care of myself. I haven’t had angels looking over my shoulders my whole life and I don’t need it now either.”

“We’re just worried.”

“No, what you’re feeling is guilt. I wouldn’t be on anyone’s radar or in any sort of danger if Dean had just taken the amulet and not come back.”

Dean’s angry tirade goes quiet and even Sam doesn’t say anything for a few moments. It’s long enough that Castiel manages to fill the tub with cold water and dump both his pants and his shirt into it. He puts the phone on speaker and rests that on the floor next to him while he kneels beside the tub and uses shampoo on the stains to lift the blood out, rubbing the fabric together between his fists.

“Cas, where are you?” Dean sounds like he’s the one with the phone now, his voice hard but quiet.

He hears the door click in the main room and Balthazar shows up in the bathroom door moments later. Castiel holds out a hand for his bloody clothes. “I’m fine, Dean. I’m just out hunting with Balthazar for a few weeks.”

The rustling-flapping sound that heralds their arrival makes Castiel wince. He reaches down and closes his phone before he stands. Balthazar has his jeans at mid thigh when he turns around, only to turn back and give Castiel possibly the worst disapproving frown he’s ever given him. He makes a wild gesture at the angels standing in their motel room.

“I didn’t tell them where we were.” He says in his defense, squeezing past him to get to the rest of the room. “And you two are making it a bad habit to show up unannounced when I’m half naked. I want that to stop.”

Castiel chooses to ignore how Sam slaps Dean’s hand away when he reaches up to cover his eyes again. Just like how he ignores Dean’s wandering eyes and how that sends the same spark of _heat_ down his spine as something flutters violently under his ribs. He can feel Dean’s eyes on his back, tracing over the anti-possession symbol tattooed between his shoulder blades. That _heat_ follows whatever path Dean’s eyes take and he doesn’t know if he should hope that the sensation has something to do with Dean being an angel and that it’s not just a physical reaction to being watched like that.

Apparently Dean’s staring problem is something that Balthazar clearly doesn’t like, his jacket catching Dean neatly in the head. “What are you two buffoons doing here? Cassie is on vacation from you bastards, so you can quite kindly fuck off now.” He staggers while trying to pull his pants back up with one hand with gesticulating excessively with the other.

That gets him a narrowed eyed glare from them both, which Castiel also ignores. He’s more intent on finding a t-shirt and sweatpants in his duffle bag. He’s barely comfortable being this undressed alone or in Balthazar’s presence, let alone while Dean and Sam are here too. Something in the back of his mind puts extra emphasis on _Dean_ and he nearly fumbles with tugging the sweatpants up his legs.

“We’re actually here about _you_ , dickhead.” Dean hisses, throwing Balthazar’s jacket aside. “Sammy, you deal with him. I don’t want to catch his stupid.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Deal with me how?” Balthazar takes a step back when Sam approaches him. “Cassie, what are they do – Stay away from him!”

He pulls a shirt over his head and turns around to find Dean _right there_. It makes his breath stutter and his heart does something weird in his chest that almost hurts. Dean looks angry – furious, even. He grabs Castiel by the arm and someone hits the channel changing button again. Suddenly it’s cold concrete under his socks and they’re standing in a parking lot that Castiel doesn’t recognize.

“Take me back.” He jerks his arm free.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Dean hisses, throwing all sense of personal space out the window and stepping even closer. “I’ve got angels _and_ Alistair on my ass and I’m doing my damnedest to keep them off _you_. All you had to do was _stay home_ until we were certain that they wouldn’t be able to find you, but _no_. You just _had_ to go off with your stupid brother and _he_ isn’t protected like you are. That’s what Sam’s doing right now, y’know. He’s making that idiot safe too because you couldn’t just _stay_ and you had to _leave_ the place where you’re safest and –”

Castiel refuses to step back, holding his ground and keeping his hands firmly at his side. “I can keep _myself_ safe. I certainly don’t need _your_ _protection_.”

Dean makes a frustrated noise and he looks like he’s about to say more, but his expression slips into the blank stare Castiel has seen before. He’s receiving a prayer of some kind, but it only lasts for a second this time before the lines of Dean’s face turns hard again. The same frustrated growl rumbles in his throat and he takes a step away, shoving his hand through his hair and rubbing it over his face.

“Yes, I feel guilty as hell that I brought you into this. But I’m trying to fix it and you’re not letting me.” He glares at Castiel again and that might be a pout pulling at his bottom lip. “You helped us when you didn’t have to and we’re paying that back the best we can, if you’d just _let us_.”

“I don’t have a want or need for you to ‘pay me back’.” Castiel sighs, trying to release the anger and force his body to relax. “I don’t expect anything in return when I help a friend. All I ask is that you understand that I’m fully capable of caring for myself. Humans aren’t as weak and useless as you seem to think we are.”

He’s not expecting the nearly _lost_ look that Dean gives him. There’s worry and fear and so many emotions flickering across Dean’s face, Castiel can’t even name them all. It makes him nervous when all if it vanishes into the determined set of his jaw.

“I’m not going to stop trying to keep you safe.” Dean steps up close again and Castiel swallows on reflex, his mouth suddenly dry. “I’m not letting Alistair, or anyone else, get their hands on you.”

“Why do you care so much?” Castiel asks softly and he’s briefly terrified of the answer.

The question seems to surprise Dean. He blinks, and Castiel wishes he just imagined that Dean’s eyes flick down his face to rest on his mouth for a moment before he looks back up. His voice is gentle too, low and deep and crawling under Castiel’s skin. “I take care of what few friends I’ve got, Cas.”

That marks the end of their conversation. Dean’s fingers close around his wrist and it’s like lightning up his arm. Suddenly there’s carpet under Castiel’s feet again and Balthazar’s angry shouts are filling the air instead of the distant sound of traffic. Castiel gets jerked back quite a few steps, nearly losing his footing entirely, when Balthazar grabs him by the shoulder and hauls him almost across the room.

“He just told me he _burned sigils into my ribs_ , Cassie! You didn’t tell me that’s what they did to you. It _hurt_ and he didn’t even _ask_ first! They _violated_ –”

Castiel pries his hand off his shoulder. “I’ll explain the rest to you later. Just calm down.”

“Calm down? _Calm down?!_ ” Balthazar makes a choked, angry noise. “Your angels just –”

“I can knock him out for you with a touch.” Dean offers quietly, an amused grin plastered across his lips as he shoves one hand in his pocket and wiggles the fingers of his other, rosary swaying under his wrist.

Sam’s face is twitching like he’s trying to hold back a smile and Castiel gives them both an exasperated look. “Perhaps you should go. I’m sure you have something you could be doing.”

“We do. But this is more interesting.”

“No, he’s right.” Sam lays his hand on Dean’s shoulder, ignoring the displeased pout he receives. “We’ll talk to you later, Cas.”

They’re gone in a blink and Balthazar immediately calms down, grumbling as he digs a bottle of alcohol out of his bag. “I thought I was going to lose my voice before they’d finally leave.”

Castiel frowns at his back before returning to the bathroom to deal with their clothes. “You were acting like a crazy person on purpose?”

“It made Sam uncomfortable enough that he took Dean away, didn’t it?” Balthazar sounds smug as he takes a seat on the lid of the toilet, cracking open the seal on his bottle. “Now, give me the whole story about this whole ‘protection thing’.”


	5. Full Hunter's Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “As much as I’d love for you to break those damn vows of yours, connect with someone and have a damn relationship that will do you some good, I don’t want it to be with something that might break _you_.” Balthazar finishes with a sigh, head tilted back and staring at the clouds. “Now that you know where I’m coming from, can we stop fighting about it? Having you pissed at me was always worse than when Father Christopher was upset with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Pappcave's Reverse!Verse](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/Papp%27s-reverse%21verse). Papp has written a few things for it already (found at the link above) - part of Castiel's past included. 
> 
> And he was nice enough to do extra art for this fic too! Go give him some love!
> 
>  
> 
> **Updates the 15th and 30th of every month until the story is complete. And no, I'm sorry, I don't know how long it will be. For chapter statuses and information, please[check here.](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hunting+for+faith)**

Just like Castiel suspected it would at the bar the other night, telling Balthazar _everything_ that happened on laundry day and why Dean and Sam thought it necessary to protect them with the sigils carved into their ribs gets him an angry rant that calls into question his decision to stay friends with angels. He and Balthazar are still arguing about it by the time they go to bed and they continue to have a healthy debate about it (although they speak mostly in a heated silence that says volumes) over breakfast and through the rest of the next day and various small hunts picked up on their way to Wyoming over the next week.

Half the hunts end up being nothing at all and the rest are simple salt and burns that they manage to handle together in a day. Castiel is fairly quick when he does research, finding the lore and the burial places usually within an afternoon of searching through a library while Balthazar corroborates his findings by speaking to victims or their families. An evening of digging a grave is all it takes before they’re out of town the next morning and back on the road.

At least once a day he gets a message from Dean. The first was almost timid, asking if he and Castiel are okay after the other night. Castiel takes nearly a whole day to form his answer before he lets Dean know that yes, they are – but it’s still fragile. If Dean doesn’t trust him – with information or with being able to take care of himself, then they’re going to have problems for as long as they know each other.

Dean never addresses that again. Every message afterward usually has to do with what type of food Dean tries that day. He especially seems to like pizza and more than once he mentions that Castiel’s pie has been the best so far. Sam messages him sometimes too, but mostly it’s in apology for Dean or making sure that he’s doing alright, wondering how Balthazar is doing and if their hunts are going well.

Every time his phone dings, Balthazar makes an unhappy noise. He gets more irate if Castiel actually _smiles_ at the messages and more than once he tries to grab the phone from his hands. Castiel takes to answering the messages twisted in his seat with his back to Balthazar.

They hit Wyoming and drive past The Devil’s Gate two days before the full hunter’s moon. Balthazar swings through the city of Rawlins for extra supplies and an evening of information gathering before they'll even think of going to investigate the Gate. Castiel is an odd mixture of pleased and unhappy when they do hear that young girls and boys of all ages have gone missing in surrounding cities over the last week. It’s satisfying to have his suspicions about the seal confirmed, but it’s horrible that so many children are being abducted for the ritual.

The day before the seal is supposed to be broken, they drive out and pick a camping spot on the ridge in full view of the Gate. They’re careful as they pick their way through the gorge, trying to determine which side the demons are likely to use and laying traps where they won’t be easily detected.

Where the Gate is narrowest, Castiel digs a line in the dirt from one wall to the other. In it he lays down a salt filled tube sewn together out of what he suspects are lady’s stockings – he absolutely refuses to ask Balthazar how he acquired pantyhose or why he picked that particular fabric – and buries it again. This trap will keep the demons from escaping out the other side. They won’t be able to cross it and if they’re quick enough, he and Balthazar might be able to lay another line of salt so the demons can’t escape and they can pick them off with exorcisms and the like.

Balthazar is fully prepared with super-soaker water guns that he bought at a toy store. They get filled with holy water that Castiel blesses himself, and they has a portable stereo with a CD full of exorcisms recorded on it. When he’d proposed these ideas years ago, Castiel had been fairly impressed – although he’s not sure if Balthazar came up with them out of brilliance or laziness, it’s still extremely effective and Castiel has recorded several CDs for various hunters around the country.

They spend the night at the camp, using the nearly full moonlight to guide them when they go to check on the Gate periodically through the night. The next morning, they pack up camp and hide the car farther away from the Gate, hiking back together. Balthazar has some spy equipment – the only high tech thing he actually carries – that he gives to Castiel.

“Ear wigs and lapel microphones.” He explains, dropping them into Castiel’s hand as he attaches his own. “They cost a fortune but they’re worth it when you’re working in pairs and they’re better than any walkie-talkie as long as you’re within range.”

It’s not even noon when they split up. Balthazar takes up on one side of the gorge, Castiel on the other, hunkered down and hiding behind rocks, his back to the wall. It’s not going to be very comfortable for a long period of time, but they can’t risk not being here when the demons arrive. Of course their goal is to get _all_ the demons, but their primary objective is to save the children and keep the demons from breaking the seal, even if that means that a few of them escape.

It isn’t until early evening, as the sky is starting to get dark, that people start showing up. As luck would have it, they show up on Castiel’s side of the Gate and they don’t go anywhere near the center. They’re carrying tiki torches and bags of spray paint. Castiel hisses a warning into the microphone pinned to the collar of his shirt and he grips the barrel of his shot gun. The super-soaker is resting against his back, the strap digging into his shoulder. He’ll save that when he runs out of rock salt shells and he has quite a bit of those in the ammo pack strapped to his hip. They’re prepared for this and even if his nerves ratchet up a few notches, his hands don’t start to shake and his breathing remains even.

Balthazar’s voice whispers into his ear, letting him know that he’s taking up a position on the ridge across from him and he’ll come down before the ritual starts. They watch in silence as the small group of four who arrived together start setting up the torches and spray symbols on the ground and walls. Castiel doesn’t recognize the circles and lines and that just confirms how serious this is.

A few hours pass and more people show up. It’s another four adults and they’re leading the group of children between them. Castiel counts ten total, estimating the age range is between seven years and fourteen. He has to bite his lip to keep himself from reacting as the children are led to the center of the painting circle. They’re not putting up any kind of fight and their expressions are unnervingly blank.

“I’d wager they’re possessed.” Balthazar whispers and Castiel hopes he’s right. That’s easier for them to deal with then some kind of mind control.

It’s full dark when another woman arrives, holding the hand of a young girl wearing a pretty dress. Castiel’s hand tightens dangerously on the weapon across his knees and it suddenly becomes very hard to breathe. He doesn’t recognize the little girl, but his eyes are on the woman holding her hand. It’s been twenty years and she hasn’t aged a day. Her clothes are different and her dark hair is loose and wavy around her shoulders, but Castiel would recognize her anywhere.

“Meg.” He hisses under his breath, only loud enough for Balthazar to pick up on the microphone. “That’s _Meg_.”

“From the orphanage?” Balthazar sounds incredulous. “Impossible. She’d be in her forties at _least_. That can’t be – are you _sure_?”

“She had Father Christopher’s heart in her hand the last time I saw her. _Of course I’m sure._ ”

Balthazar’s voice takes an edge to it. “Cassie, keep –”

“Don’t even start.” Castiel is almost insulted.

He knows better than to react outside of their plan. Even though he’s devoted his life to making sure that the monsters who killed the only family he’s ever known are hunted, he’s more level headed than that. Their objective is to save the children and the vessels. They just need to hold the demons back long enough for the exorcism CD to work. And if, by some miracle, the demon inside of Meg is still here – well, Castiel knows of one particular exorcism that will banish the demon straight back to hell instead of just pushing it out of the meat suit. The only problem with that spell is that it requires an intricate devil’s trap and a blood seal – _his_ blood – to be drawn on the vessel.

“I think the little girl is a demon.” Balthazar changes the subject, knowing when to pick his battles with Castiel. “Look at her.”

The little girl in the fancy dress is still holding Meg’s hand. When Castiel finally shifts his attention from Meg to her, he takes in how very aware she is. She’s not blank faced and emotionless like the other children being lined up side by side. The little girl is actually _directing_ the other demons to get the children to kneel on the ground.

“Cassie, I don’t think we should wait any longer. Hit the flares”

By that he means to pull the string that is covered with sand and dirt, strung through the caps of several flares partially buried in a semi-circle from wall to wall. The flares will hopefully be enough to blind the demons and keep them from seeing or reacting while they lay a line of salt from both sides and meet in the middle. If any demon tries to make a break for it, they can keep them at bay with their shotguns and Balthazar will play the exorcism CD the moment they’re sure the demons won’t be able to escape. The only way they'll be able to get out is if they want to try scaling the rock walls, but Castiel had taken a look when he was laying down the precautions before. They’re steep and have few hand holds. He doubts anyone – human or demon – would be able to make that climb.

It takes a good hard tug of the string to break the seals on all the flares. They light up in a line and the confused shouting starts before they’re all lit. Castiel grabs his bag of salt and he ducks out from behind the rocks. He can hear them shouting about hunters but he stays focused, drawing the line of salt as quickly as he can without leaving any breaks. Balthazar is doing the same, working toward him in the bright upward spray of red sparks from the flares.

“Cassie, finish the salt. They’re making a run for it.” His voice is simultaneously in Castiel’s ear and ahead of him. It would be disorienting if he wasn’t so focused on his task. The boom of the shotgun adds to the shouts and the hiss of the flares.

They don’t have long, five minutes at most, before the flares fizzle out. Balthazar bought them cheap and in bulk and Castiel wishes that he’d gotten the longer lasting ones. At least then, if the demons are carrying weapons, they wouldn’t be able to really see them to aim properly – especially if he and Balthazar keep low to the ground and don't stop moving.

The demons start shouting louder, angry and cursing at them as they try to run at the salt line. Balthazar’s shot gun and the spray of holy water keeps them back until Castiel completes it. He finds the CD player where Balthazar left it in the bushes and sets it up behind them, putting the volume as loud as it will go before he hits play. Their curses and screams get louder when the exorcism chant starts blasting through the speakers loud enough to make Castiel wince.

Some rocks fly through the haze of sparks and smoke, but Castiel side steps them and lifts the shot gun in one hand and the super-soaker in the other. His shotgun is a small sawed off, but the kickback will still hurt his shoulder and throw his arm up or down or to the side. He’ll have to correct his aim for every shot or risk wasting ammo. Castiel chants the exorcism in time with the CD. Balthazar does the same and there are already streams of black escaping into the sky before the flares even run out, fleeing up and over the sides of the cliffs.

When he hears the laughter – loud, childlike and _cold –_ echoing over everything, it sends chills down his spine. Balthazar mutters a curse in his ear and they share a worried look between them.

The flares burn out one by one and they finally get a clear view of the demons. Only a few are still staggering, hands clamped around their throat. It doesn't take long for them to collapse as the black smoke billows from their mouths. All the kidnapped children are splayed across the rocks. They look alright from where they’re standing and Castiel prays a silent 'thank you' that the demons didn’t turn their rage on them to try and complete the ritual in the chaos.

What catches their attention is the little girl, still standing and holding Meg’s hand. Meg looks amused and unaffected, head tilted as she watches them. The little girl is the one laughing, a wide, cruel grin stretching her delicate features. It’s her white eyes that are the most striking and something a lot like worry tugs sharply behind Castiel’s ribs when he sees them.

“White eyes.” Balthazar speaks lowly and Castiel can only hear his voice thanks to the ear wig. The CD player is still blasting the exorcism, but it’s not affecting either of the demons still standing. “Cassie, is that the demon you told me about? Alistair?”

The little girl waves her hand and the very _ground_ starts to rumble. A cold ball of dread starts to form in Castiel’s chest when he realizes it’s the little girl making it happen. The rumbling gets bad enough that the CD starts to skip to the point it’s just making the same da-da-da noise over and over. It’s loud and annoying, and Castiel turns it off despite Balthazar’s protests. As soon as it’s off, the rumbling stops.

“We already know it doesn’t work on that.” He gestures at the demons with his shot gun. “It’s painfully obvious, considering they’re the only ones still here.”

“But Cassie –”

“It’s not Alistair.” Castiel cuts him off, stepping up next to him. “If it was, he’d have mentioned recognizing me by now.”

The little girl tilts her head before stepping forward, dragging Meg with her as she approaches the salt line. He has a sudden realization that if she could make the very earth move like that, it’s not unlikely that she wouldn’t be able to make it move to the point that a break occurs in the line. They’ve tried trapping a tiger in a cage of string.

“You know Alistair?” The little girl asks and her small voice is at odds with the cold, flat tones. “I didn’t know there were hunters that knew his name. He must be losing his touch if you got away from him with that much information.”

“I doubt it.” Meg drawls, a knowing grin lifting her painted lips. “Clarence has always been a slippery one. Isn’t that right?”

His grip on the gun goes painfully tight, to the point that his hand starts to tremble. 'Clarence' is the nickname that she always used to call him. He remembers how special it used to make him feel that she thought of him as an angel, and that she never gave any of the other children a nickname like that.

“Surprised that I recognized you? Oh, Clarence, I’d never forget those baby blues.” She winks and her attention turns to Balthazar. “What really gave it away was _you_. Your accent and that little pet name. How could I forget the fights you two used to have when he realized ‘Cassie’ was a girl’s name?”

“You know them.” The little girl tugs on Meg’s hand. It isn’t a question.

She looks down at her and the smile slips a little. “They were both children at the orphanage.”

When the white eyes turn back to him, Castiel tries not to let the shudder show. It’s just like Alistair all over again. “How do you know Alistair?”

“An unfortunate accident.” Castiel bites out.

He doesn’t want to give any hint that he knows Sam and Dean. If this demon finds out about that, she might tell Alistair and he could use Castiel against them. And Castiel _will not_ allow himself to be their weakness.

“What kind of accident?”

“The unfortunate kind.” Balthazar snaps. If they survive this, Castiel is going to put him in his grave for the sheer idiocy of talking back to a white eyes as if he’s already forgotten the display of power she gave.

That turns the cold eyes to him and Castiel is almost vindictively pleased that Balthazar nearly recoils from it. She never gets the chance to say anything to him. None of them are expecting the flapping-rustling sound or the two people that just appear behind the demons, their backs to them. Something fluttery and altogether unsettling pushes up under Castiel’s rib cage as he recognizes them. He’d know Dean and Sam anywhere by now.

“I think we missed the party.” Dean mumbles, squatting to get a closer look at one of the children. He reaches out to touch her forehead. “Still alive.”

Meg and the white eyes turn to look, but Castiel still catches the horrified look on Meg’s face. At roughly the same time, Sam glances around, turning completely when he notices them. First it’s surprise when he meets Castiel’s eyes, and then his expression hardens as he takes in the two demons. Castiel has to reach over and grab Balthazar’s arm to keep him from waving. Meg knows who they are and she knows what Sam and Dean are. They can’t let on that they know angels.

All it takes is one meaningful look for Castiel to get the point across. He already explained everything to Balthazar before and there are no more secrets between them about the situations regarding Dean and Sam. Balthazar nods and gives him a wink before he pulls his arm away and gestures wildly before Dean is fully on his feet and turning to face them.

“Cassie, what the _hell_ kind of demon can pop in and out of a salt circle like that?”

“It’s not a complete circle.” Castiel reminds him, pointing at the cliff walls. “But I don’t know of any demon that can just _appear_ like that.” He tries to ignore the hard _anger_ practically radiating from Dean when he’s fully facing them. There is undoubtedly an angry lecture in his near future.

“I can.” The little girl murmurs, sounding more pleased than she does surprised. “And so can _angels_. I was wondering when I’d get to finally meet you two.”

Balthazar scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Angels don’t exist.”

“Shut _up_.” Meg hisses over her shoulder and Balthazar makes a face at her behind her back. Old habits die hard, it seems. He was the exact same way with her when they were children.

Sam has to put a hand on Dean’s shoulder to keep him from moving forward. “We’ve heard about you. Lilith, right?”

“I was hoping you would come tonight.” Now she sounds positively gleeful and it leaves Castiel with a dreadful sense of foreboding. “I wanted to meet the angels that Alistair keeps complaining about. His descriptions don’t do you justice. What are your names?”

Castiel can feel the way the air starts to ache from where he's standing. The tiki torches begin to sputter, but the flames burn brighter as they grow larger than they should be able to. Balthazar grabs his arm and starts pulling him away, stopping only to grab the CD player while he mutters things about crazy demon battles and not wanting to be a part of it. Castiel isn’t sure if he’s still playing pretend, or if he really doesn’t want to be a part of whatever is about to happen between Dean, Sam and this Lilith. He makes a mental note, somewhere in the rising worry, to confront Dean about not telling him that there were other white eyed demons roaming around too.

Balthazar drags him back far enough that Castiel can’t even hear what they’re saying anymore. It’s a bit frustrating, but necessary. They watch from where they stand, waiting for what – neither of them knows. It doesn’t look like anyone is moving, but the fires continue to burn too big and too bright. Of course, when Lilith and Meg simply _disappear_ , it's something that makes even Castiel swear as the fires fizzle out to trembling flames almost too small to see from where they stand, and they can’t even see Dean or Sam anymore.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?”

Castiel spins around sharply at the angry voice behind them. Dean is right in his personal space, barely any room between them as he glares down the bare inches in difference of their height. Sam is standing behind him and he doesn’t look any happier, glaring between Castiel and Balthazar.

“We’re doing our _job_.” He hisses, shoving at Dean’s chest and staggering back himself when Dean doesn’t even rock on his feet.

Dean opens and closes his mouth a few times before he makes a frustrated noise and turns away. “And what were you going to do about _Lilith_?”

“We didn’t know there was a white eyes here.” Balthazar interjects, his own displeasure edging his voice. “If I recall correctly, _no one_ mentioned to _us_ that there was someone else aside from Alistair out there. That would have been some nice information to have.”

“And it doesn’t matter. She was stuck behind the salt line.” Castiel points out.

Sam shakes his head, shoving his hands in his pockets and watching Dean pace. “If it had been a full circle the she wouldn’t have been able to cross the line, but a white eyed demon can teleport similar to the way we do. They don’t get the same amount of distance, but she would have easily been able to get up those walls and around the salt.”

“Well she _didn’t_.” Balthazar snaps, pulling his flask from inside his jacket. “We’re all alive and it's a job that’s bloody well done as far as I’m concerned. What you’re doing now is nothing more than the equivalent of crying over spilled milk.”

Castiel nods in agreement and he waits for Dean to turn on him again before he speaks. “Those children would have been _dead_ by the time you got here and the seal would have been _broken_. We did our job _and_ yours.”

Dean’s lips press into a thin line and he looks like he’s going to say something, but Sam beats him to it. “Why didn’t you tell us that you were going after a seal?”

“You never tell me where you are or what seal you’re after. Why should I have to do it?” Castiel turns his glare to Sam, softening it when he notices that Sam doesn’t look angry anymore, just curious. “Should I have to do it because I’m human? If Lilith hadn’t been here – something that not even _you_ anticipated – we would have been fine.”

He glances back at Dean, surprised to find that even though his lips are still in a thin line he looks more contrite than he does angry. “We know what we’re doing. We know how to survive and we know how to fight. At the very least we deserve your respect.”

Sam puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder again. They don’t say anything, but they share a heavy look that makes Castiel wonder if angels can communicate telepathically outside of prayer. More of the tension leaves Dean’s body and when he looks back at Castiel, he looks – impressed? Castiel isn’t sure what it is and that makes him wary.

He isn’t expecting Dean to sound so very _sincere_ when he steps close again and speaks softly, his hand on Castiel's shoulder as he dips his head to look him in the eyes. “You saved a lot of people tonight. Good job, Cas.”

The reaction those simple words inspire in him is confusing, pleasing, _terrifying_. That fluttering feeling intensifies, filling his chest and spiraling into his stomach as heat floods his veins. It’s almost as if a _blush_ is creeping under his skin and Castiel can barely keep himself from glancing away. He manages to get out a quiet ‘thank you’, but it’s hushed and nearly a murmur. It’s _shy_.

His response draws a wider smile from Dean and Castiel wants to give one in returns. Dean’s smiles are infectious and they’re nice – soft, warm, and even though Castiel can’t think of a situation where he would admit it out loud, he thinks Dean’s smiles are beautiful. If he had to be honest, _Dean_ is beautiful. From the shape of his lips to the bridge of his nose to the curve of his freckled cheeks and the green of his eyes.

It’s hard to remember sometimes that the meat suit isn’t actually Dean. There’s an infinite being trapped in that cage of flesh and Castiel barely knows anything about the _real_ him. He doesn’t know what he looks like or what he really sounds like (and if that high pitched noise is what humans hear then Castiel refuses to believe that’s what _angels_ hear). All he knows is the size of Dean’s wings and that his true form would burn his eyes to look at him.

Whenever he remembers this, a sharp disappointment pulses behind his sternum. He might never get to see Dean for what he really is. All he'll ever see is the body of a man who, if angels possess the way demons do, is still in there somewhere. Castiel wants to see the _real_ Dean, to know his name and his voice and the shape of him. There are so many different interpretations of what angels really look like that Castiel wants to see for himself – or at least have Dean tell him. He wants to reach out and touch Dean’s wings and know if they’re made of lightning and storms to match the scent he leaves whenever he stands too close – something that Castiel is minding less and less with every meeting.

Castiel doesn’t move when Dean takes another step closer. Somewhere between chest and mouth, his breath catches. Sam mentions something about taking them back to the car, but Castiel barely hears him. He’s more focused on the electric bolts zinging under his skin when Dean's hand slides down his arm from his shoulder to circle his wrist. He can feel the beads and cross of Dean’s rosary knocking against his fingers. The voice in the back of his head – one that sounds a lot like Balthazar – is saying that they have long passed where their eye contact would have been considered comfortable.

“Sammy, I’ll take Cas back. You get –” He cuts of sharply at the burst of water that catches him in the face. Dean turns his head slowly to narrow a glare at Balthazar and gets another spray and another and another until he steps away.

“I’m an _angel_ , you asshat.” Dean grumbles as he wipes the water from his eyes. “Holy water doesn’t have any effect on me.”

“I didn’t expect it to.” Balthazar hisses, lowering his nearly empty water gun. “But when a dog acts up, you spray it with water. It’s basic training, really.” He shrugs and shoulders the strap of the super-soaker. “For your information, Cassie wasn’t the only one risking his ass out there tonight. And thanks for the consideration, but we’re not going back to the car yet. There are nearly two dozen people back there we need to make sure are okay and an anonymous call to the cops to be placed.”

Castiel opens his mouth, intent on pointing out that Dean and Sam could easily transport all the people to the nearest town and save the police the trouble of coming all the way out here, but Balthazar cuts him off rather rudely. “So thanks for _all_ the help but you can go away now.”

“Balthazar!” He hisses, not only appalled at his tone, but at how he’s treating Castiel’s _friends_. There are so few of them as is that he’d prefer that his brother not chase them off. “If it wasn’t for them, Lilith would have likely _killed_ us.”

“And then she just vanished! How do we know they’re not in league with her and that Alistair you were telling me about?”

Sam clears his throat. He looks calm, but Castiel can sense the storm brewing just beneath the surface. “If you want to know what happened, you could just ask, you know? Lilith ran when we attacked because she made a threat at the both of _you_. And she doesn’t fight, not like Alistair. She works behind the scenes and directs the rest of the demons. We were _trying_ to get more information out of her first. If we can figure out how they’re working and where they’re getting their information, we can stop them at the source instead of running around trying to keep the seals from breaking.”

That sobers Balthazar slightly and he looks properly rebuked. Of course he still doesn’t apologize and Castiel glares at him before he makes a quiet scoffing noise and turns, stalking back toward the Gates and leaving Castiel behind. Not for long, though, because he starts shouting for him to follow.

“I’m sorry about him.” Castiel sighs, turning back to them. “He’s not usually this abrasive.”

“I doubt that.” Dean huffs, crossing his arms and glaring after Balthazar. “I might get a knife to the face if we stick around any longer right now.” His expression flickers to something almost disappointed when he looks back at him.

Castiel gives them a small smile. “I’ll text you later.”

Both Sam and Dean grin widely, pleased with that before they disappear with little waves. Castiel stares at the spot for a few moments before he turns back to go deal with Balthazar. There’s nothing they can do about the symbols painted everywhere, but they make sure all the people are alright – although they are all unconscious – while they dig up the tube of salt. They leave the flares and everything else, trying not to leave tracks when they hike back to the car in the dark and in silence.

Balthazar knows he’s mad with him and he doesn’t press his luck. He stays quiet the entire hike and the drive. Castiel makes the call to the police from one of their disposable cell phones. There’s a stock of them kept in the glove compartment, separate from their permanent phones that they carry on themselves at all times. The disposables are cheap and their only function is as the numbers that they print on the fake cards they give out to witnesses in case they ever remember any particular points of interest during their investigations.

The call is short and quick. Castiel forces his voice up a few octaves to mask it and says the location and a lie about seeing torches and a bunch of people lying on the ground. As soon as he hangs up, Castiel wipes the phone down to ensure there are no finger prints on it. They’ll toss it in the next town only because Castiel refuses to leave litter along the highway.

Rather than stop in Casper for the night, Balthazar pulls over just long enough for the phone to get tossed into a street side garbage can. They continue driving until they reach Harrison on the other side of the Nebraskan border. It’s barely a three hour drive, but neither one of them says a word and Castiel takes the shower first the moment they’re in the door. It’s only subtly rude, but at least the hot water calms him a little.

He’s in bed and the lights are off by the time Balthazar comes out of the washroom. He fumbles around in the room until Castiel hears him slide into his bed. The silence that falls between them isn’t so angry anymore. Now it’s uncomfortable and Castiel doesn’t like it.

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset with me.” The words are whispered into the dark.

“You’re rude to my friends and you don’t understand why I’m upset?” Castiel hisses back, turning over to face the other bed. He can make out the shape of his brother under the blankets, back-lit by the light of the motel sign coming through their window.

“They shouldn’t be your friends.”

“I’m _allowed_ to have friends and you have no say on that matter.”

“I didn’t say that you _can’t_ have friends!” Balthazar sits up and he sounds more frustrated now. “I meant that you shouldn’t be friends with _them_. Be friends with anyone else, just not a pair of renegade angels doing God knows what out and about in the world with all their bloody secrets and all the goddamn _danger_ they keep bringing to your doorstep. You wouldn’t have done any research or anything about stopping a fucking _seal_ of all things if you hadn’t been so intent on proving to Dean that you’re not a weak little thing.”

“Don’t you _dare_ bring ‘danger’ into this.” Castiel throws the covers off and sits up too. “You’re out there every day as a hunter putting your life on the line and I’m in the Church surrounded by books. Is it so bad that there are days when I _want_ to do more? It doesn’t matter what reasons there are for what gets me out here, but Sam and Dean bring no more danger to me than you or anyone else does. I was _there_ when the first seal was broken. I was supposed to _die_ that day as a part of it. I’ve been wrapped up in this entire mess _long_ before Dean came to the Church so don’t you even _try_ to blame him for all of this.”

Balthazar makes a frustrated noises and he flops back down on the bed, his back to Castiel. He does the same and they don’t say another word until they’re getting coffee in the morning. Castiel’s schedule had been organized to leave them a few days to get back to the Church – just in case they stumble onto another hunt on their way home. He's detailed the long way home, taking a different route throuhg different towns so they can check for hunts.

The only word is a mumbled apology as he hands Castiel his coffee, made just the way that he likes it. With those two words, the status quo is once again balanced and even though Castiel knows that Balthazar’s animosity toward Dean and Sam will likely never go away, he still forgives him for the outburst last night.

“Are you going to at least try and be civil to them the next time you see them?” He asks, sliding down in his seat with his knees against the dash again, his hands curved around his travel mug. It’s only while in Balthazar’s car that he relaxes like this – although he does sometimes sit with his legs over the arm of the chair in his bedroom when he reads. There isn’t anyone except Balthazar that Castiel relaxes this much in front of. He always has his guard up with everyone else.

Balthazar grunts as he pulls the car out onto the highway again. “I make no promises. Sam is okay, but that _Dean_ gets under my skin.”

“You’re just mad that he’s prettier than you.”

That gets him a startled laugh and Castiel smiles smugly around the lip of his cup. It’s always nice when he makes a joke – although in this case he privately things that it’s true – that manages to catch Balthazar off guard. His sense of humour is rather subtle and sneaky and not even his brother can predict when it might strike.

It’s a few hours into their drive before Castiel’s phone beeps.

Today Dean is extolling the wonders of pancakes and saying that he’s keeping a list of all the different foods that he wants Castiel to make when he’s home again. He claims that it’s because Castiel’s food tastes better and the small compliment makes him smile down at the phone. Thankfully, Balthazar never says anything about the messages that come throughout the day – and only a few times are they actually about food. The rest are observations about people, and places, and Castiel is amused as the spelling in each message slowly changes. ‘You’ becomes ‘u’ and ‘you are’ becomes ‘ur’. Dean has stopped using capital letters too.

 

> _u ever been to paris?_
> 
> _No, I haven’t._
> 
> _u should it’s pretty_
> 
> _And you should stop spying on how teenagers text. You’re ancient compared to them, you should show it._
> 
> _ur not my mom :P_

Castiel actually muffles a laugh when Dean uses an emoticon. He’s seen Balthazar use the colon and closing parenthesis to make a smiley face before and it amuses him that Dean is starting to pick up the habit too. Sam’s messages remain as succinct as Castiel’s. He’s far less liberal with texting than Dean is and his messages are almost always about books or complaining about Dean’s eating habits and blaming Castiel for being the cause behind it.

Unsurprisingly, no new hunts crop up on the way back to Flanagan. They stop in every town to waste time and check the local newspapers, but nothing jumps out at them and they usually leave within the hour if they’re not stopping for something to eat. They’re only a few hours away from Flanagan when Dean goes on a texting spree telling him that Sam has a bunch of books he’d like Castiel to see and asking when he’ll be back and if they can visit as soon as he is, or if Balthazar will be there, and if Dean can help Castiel make pie.

He doesn’t realize how wide his smile is until Balthazar sighs and turns the music down. “Cassie, don’t let him do that.”

Castiel glances up from his phone, his smile falling into a confused frown. “Do what?”

“Don’t let him flirt with you.”

By now Balthazar is well aware that Castiel knows Dean flirts with him. He rolls his eyes and slouches more in his seat. This is not a conversation that he wants to have _again_. “I don’t understand what’s so bad about Dean flirting with me.”

“He’s a dick and if you don’t stop him from doing it, it’s going to put the idea into his head that you actually like it.” Balthazar’s frown is practically  _audible_ and it makes him wince.

Castiel’s fingers tighten around the phone compulsively and he stares down at the blank screen. A chord has been struck and with it comes a realization that he hadn’t expected. It’s something he hadn’t stopped to think about and he’s not sure how he feels about it. There’s a great big question mark stamped over his thoughts now and after a few moments of thinking, Castiel broaches the subject again. This time his voice comes out almost too quiet.

“What if I do like it…?”

To his credit, Balthazar doesn’t slam on the brakes or accidentally steer them off the road. His grip on the wheel does go white-knuckled and Castiel forces himself not to chew nervously at his bottom lip when Balthazar glances at him repeatedly, unable to take his eyes off the road for very long.

“Are you serious?”

Castiel shrugs, eyes on his hands and the phone he can’t let go of. Of course he’s serious. He’s usually always serious and there’s nothing for him to be joking about right now.

“I thought you said you weren’t gay.”

“I’m not.” At least that’s an answer he can give.

Castiel isn’t specifically attracted to men, and neither is he to women. He’s had fleeting thoughts about both genders before, but he’s never allowed himself to dwell on them and think about things beyond whether or not he’s found someone attractive. And it’s never been entirely based on looks either. He may have thought Dean’s vessel was attractive at first, but the flirting the first day they met hadn’t had nearly the same effect on him as it does now. At some point something changed, and Castiel isn’t sure when or what it was.

Balthazar glances at him again, forehead creased. “But he’s –”

“Different.” Castiel finishes for him, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Dean is different. I’m fairly certain that were he in a female vessel I would like the flirting then too. It’s not –” He sighs and rubs a hand over his face, unsure of how to word it. “It’s not about the _outside_ to me, it’s all about the _person_.”

“Or in this case, the angel.” Balthazar points out. “I thought you didn’t think about things like that because of your vows? That’s what you’re always going on about whenever I bring up your stupid virginity –”

Castiel winces and glares at him. “That’s entirely different. I said that I like Dean. I never said that I wanted to have sex with him.” Something too warm chases a chill across his ribs and he has to catch his thoughts quickly before they can slip into imagining anything along that particular road.

“Is it because he’s an angel? I can find you at least a dozen guys who are just like him and they’ll actually be _human_.”

“It’s not about that either.”

“Then what _is_ it about?”

“I don’t know!” Castiel snaps, frustration edging into his voice.

He doesn’t like it when their conversations steer into topics that make him look too deeply into parts of himself that he’s had closed off for years - the parts of him that Dean has been steadily unlocking one at a time since the first day they met. Castiel isn’t prepared to think about _why_ he likes that _Dean_ flirts with him, or why he’s not bothered when Dean does it but when the widows and younger ladies of his congregation or the people in town do, it leaves him slightly uncomfortable.

“Please, just change the topic or keep silent.” He shoves the phone into the breast pocket of his flannel after putting it on silent. Now that it’s put away, it might keep the conversation from turning back to Dean.

Balthazar gives him a brief narrow eyed glare, but it’s short lived as he turns back to the road. Castiel is the one who reaches over to turn the music up again, putting it at a decibel that leaves no room for any talk. This is not how he wanted his vacation to end. It had started so nicely and he had enjoyed getting to spend an extended period of time with his brother, but the last few days and the arguments that all center on Sam and Dean feel like they’ve spoiled that time between them.

They spend the night in another motel with that stifling quiet. It’s too uncomfortable for Castiel to get any kind of sleep. After filling up on gas, they don’t make any more stops. It’s a straight shot to Flanagan and the music is playing loudly the entire way. When they pull in behind the Church’s beaten up old car, it’s early afternoon and Castiel unpacks his bags from the truck with a heavy heart and a sour taste on his tongue. He’s never liked it when they fight. Certainly they bicker quite often, but it’s usually always playful and it’s only ever been over little things, or it’s been old arguments that Balthazar knows he can’t win but he’ll keep trying anyways for old time’s sake. This thing about Dean is new and different and it’s not one that Castiel has any rebuttals prepared for.

Just as he isn’t prepared for Balthazar to be standing next to the trunk when he closes it. His hands are in his pockets and he’s leaning his hip against the side of the car while looking out into the fields behind the rectory.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” He says it without preamble and it takes Castiel a moment to realize that this isn’t a change in topic. Balthazar holds up his hand to keep him from speaking. “Don’t interrupt me or I’ll never get this out. I’ve spent the last decade and change of my life hunting the supernatural. I’m not saying that you haven’t either, but you’re also in an entirely different position than I am, Cassie. You’re a _priest_. You’ve believed in God and his angels whether you thought they were real or not. Now you’ve got two of them flitting in and out of your life and, for whatever reasons, you trust them.”

Balthazar turns so he’s leaning back against the car. “I can’t trust them so easily. They keep so many secrets from you and they pop in and out when it’s convenient for _them._ I especially don’t trust anything supernatural with my little brother’s feelings. I just don’t want you to get used to him flirting with you, and God forbid if you start flirting back, and you end up falling for an _angel_ of all things. They’re not exactly known for being Earth bound. When this is all over, if he’s not dead then there’s every chance that he’s going to be going back to heaven and leave you here with a broken heart.”

Castiel doesn’t know how to react to that. They’re all points that he’s refused to even think about since this argument started. He doesn’t have any clue where Dean’s flirting will lead them and it’s not like he’s reciprocated. Has he? He’s fairly certain that he hasn’t. His answers to Dean’s texts seem no different than the ones that he sends to Sam.

“As much as I’d love for you to break those damn vows of yours, connect with someone and have a damn relationship that will do you some good, I don’t want it to be with something that might break _you_.” Balthazar finishes with a sigh, head tilted back and staring at the clouds. “Now that you know where I’m coming from, can we stop fighting about it? Having you pissed at me was always worse than when Father Christopher was upset with me.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “If you would have stopped trying to sneak into the girls’ dorms, he would have liked you more.”

“I was a growing boy.”

“You were _eleven_ when you ran away.”

“And I’ve always had a perfectly healthy interest in the opposite gender.” He grins at Castiel, all cheek and bravado and it makes Castiel laugh as he shoulders one duffle bag and carries the other. “Not to mention the same gender too.”

“I think you got my share of interest on all accounts.” He tilts a smile at him as Balthazar walks with him around the side of the rectory and through the path in the garden to the back door. “And thank you for the explanation. If it helps, I have no intention of breaking my vows. Dean is only a friend.”

Balthazar raises an eyebrow at him, skepticism etched in every line of his face. At least he wisely keeps his mouth shut and follows him inside. Everything is as immaculate as Castiel left it, including the bedroom. Father Maurice’s little suitcase is propped open in the space between the bookcase and the closet. Castiel dumps his bags at the end of the bed and checks his watch. It’s time for afternoon mass, so he should be conducting the sermon right around now.

After he changes into his black shirt and slacks, clerical collar fixed firmly in place, he heads back into the Church. Balthazar opts out of joining him, choosing to leave again before he’s subjected to having to sit through the rest of it or having to deal with Maurice in person. It’s a quick hug at the back door before he’s gone, a typical goodbye for the both of them.

Father Maurice is surprised when Castiel slips in to join the congregation. His smile grows and he dips his head in greeting, but never stops with guiding everyone through the Lord’s Prayer. He gives his goodbye at the end when he reintroduces Castiel to those gathered, giving a flowery, flourished thank you to everyone for welcoming him so warmly for the last few weeks. Castiel stands through the farewells and the ‘thank you so much’, shaking as many hands as Father Maurice does.

Dinner is leftovers from Maurice’s meals over the last few days. Castiel listens to a report of everything that happened over the last few weeks while they eat. Unsurprisingly, nothing odd occurred and that’s a relief for him. A small part of Castiel had been worried that a demon or two might have shown up while he was gone.

They close the Church after dinner and Castiel drives Father Maurice to the bus depot in Pontiac, thanking him again for the short notice and for doing such a wonderful job.

“It was no trouble, no trouble.” He shakes his hand enthusiastically and Castiel quietly tries not to think that Maurice embodies the sterotype of jolly priests. “I’d be happy to come back if you ever need time off again. They’re a wonderful group of people.”

Castiel smiles fondly, nodding. “They are.”

He waits until Father Maurice has boarded the bus before he leaves. In the parking lot he sends a joint message to Dean and Sam, explaining that he's just leaving the bus depot in Pontiac and about to return home now. He’s barely pulling out of the parking lot when he’s suddenly very much not alone in the car.

“For future reference, you shouldn’t do that while I’m _driving_.” Castiel glances over to make sure it’s Dean in the seat next to him. Sam is sitting slouched in the backseat, an easy smile on his face when Castiel meets his eyes in the rear view mirror and a stack of books in his lap. “I might crash.”

“I’ll keep you safe, don’t worry.” Dean grins, winking at him and sitting back as he rolls the window down.

Seeing Dean so soon after the conversation with Balthazar feels awkward for Castiel. He doesn’t know what to say to him. Should he bring up the flirting and ask him to stop even though he doesn’t want him to? Should he tell Dean about the argument with Balthazar and why his brother doesn’t like him? Is that even anything that Dean needs to know about? Telling him about that might lead into having to tell him about his own confusing feelings and Castiel hasn’t thought about that enough to even know where to begin let alone what he actually feels or wants or _anything_.

Why does he even need to think about that to start with? Castiel is happy with having Dean as a friend. He enjoys their playful banter – whether flirting or not. He enjoys his company and Sam’s. There doesn’t need to be anything beyond that in this ‘relationship’ of theirs. He doesn’t want anything between them to change – especially if it means having to think about things that he’s never allowed his thoughts to stray to before.

No. Castiel decides before they’ve even reached the edge of the city that he won’t say anything. It’ll just cause problems and he’s going to put the entire squabble with Balthazar in a box and bury it deep. He’s not going to think about it and he doesn’t need to examine anything or change anything and everything can just stay the same.

The angels stay with him for the drive home and to help Castiel unpack when they get back. Castiel leaves them in the kitchen while he ducks into the bedroom to change back into something more comfortable to work in – just a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt and he gets the duffle bag full of weapons. He can hear clunking in the kitchen and when he steps out of his bedroom, Dean is just turning the coffee maker on. Castiel doesn’t think twice about it until Dean opens the cupboard for the mugs and takes out the one that Castiel favours and another for Sam. When he reaches up for a third time and his hand stops, Castiel remembers suddenly and he nearly finches as Dean leans over to check the sink before looking back at the cupboard, head tilted.

“I’m sorry.” He says softly and Dean glances at him over his shoulder before Castiel looks down at the duffle bag on the table. “I broke it.”

“Klutz.” Dean snorts and takes a different one.

“It wasn't an accident. I threw it against the wall that day I met Alistair.” Castiel continues in a quiet voice. He doesn’t like lying to his friends and he wants Dean to know the truth. “I was angry when you left and I threw it. I didn’t realize it was yours until I was cleaning up the mess.”

“It wasn’t actually mine.” He points out, shrugging slightly while he gets the milk from the fridge. “They’re your mugs. Break ‘em if you want to.”

“It was the one that you used every morning that you were here before.”

“Still doesn’t make it _mine_.”

Castiel frowns at the zipper as he opens the bag. “I considered it yours and I ended up breaking it. Which is why I want to get you a new one.”

“I don’t need a new one.”

“I’m getting you a new one. Both of you.” This was never his intention when he apologized and Castiel isn’t entirely sure why he’s stubbornly sticking to this plan. “You can each have your own mug to use when you’re here. I won’t use them and I’ll make sure no one else does too.”

Sam is almost grinning when Castiel looks up, but Dean’s face is twitching like he doesn’t know whether he wants to smile or frown. “You don’t have to Cas. It wasn’t my mug.”

“I don’t care. We’re going to go shopping for a mug.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Right now?”

Castiel checks the time on his watch. It’s well after nine o’clock. “No, most stores will be closed and there isn’t a twenty-four hour Walmart nearby.”

“If you put your shoes on, we can take you to one.” Sam offers.

Ten minutes later and Castiel is standing in the dishware section of a Walmart on the west coast while Sam and Dean browse the shelves. Sam settles for something simple – a black cup with a band of white around the bottom. Dean takes his time and while Castiel is checking the prices on a nice set of knives, he leaves the dishware aisle entirely only to return a few minutes later with an apron folded over his arm.

He pulls a solid blue mug from the shelf without really looking. “I’m done.”

“What’s that?” Sam gestures at the apron and Dean’s grin grows.

“Something for Cas.”

Castiel narrows his eyes and holds his hand out. “Show me. If I’m paying for it, I want to see it first.”

Dean turns it over to him without hesitation and Castiel unfolds it. In bold letters laid over a pair of lush lips is ‘KISS THE COOK’, the font and colours garish beyond reason. The snorting laughter behind him says that Sam was looking over his shoulder and Dean’s grin is bordering on ridiculous.

“I’m never wearing this.”

“But it’s my gift to you!” Dean’s smile falls and his bottom lip starts to stick out in a pout.

“ _I’m_ the one who's paying.”

Somehow that little fact means nothing. By the time they get back to the rectory, Castiel has a new apron and he’s weighed down with ingredients for all the things that Dean wants him to cook. There’s no time for it tonight but most of the items can be frozen and Dean promises that they will likely be back in a few days anyway. Either way, Castiel hides the apron at the bottom of his drawer full of dish towels.

They drink their coffee while Sam unloads everything from the cabinet and hutch hiding the basement door. Dean helps Castiel clean all the weapons and put them back in their hiding places around the rectory. With everything moved next to the door to his office, Sam and Dean leave again. They can’t help him move anything into the Church basement and he’s too tired to do that tonight. He didn’t sleep the night before and now that he’s home, he’s ready to get some rest in his own bed.

When Dean had promised that they would be back in a few days, apparently he meant the next morning. They’re both sitting at the kitchen table and drinking coffee from their new cups when Castiel comes out of his bedroom half dressed with the intent to shower. The sun has barely risen and he’s not nearly awake enough for this. At least the angels have enough self-preservation to know not to talk to him until after he’s had a cup of coffee, a shower, and another cup.

When he lowers the second cup, having just drained in dry, Castiel is met with Dean holding out the apron and looking so _hopeful_ that he really can’t say ‘no’. Dean is even so helpful as to tie it up for him in the back before requesting that Castiel make all the same things he did for the first breakfast that he ever had. Of course Dean helps while Sam snoops through the books in Castiel’s bedroom. He is fully aware, while frying sausages and bacon in one pan and cooking eggs in another, that Dean’s attention isn’t on the toast he’s supposed to be making.

“I’ll burn everything on purpose if you even so much as think –” He gets cut off mid-threat by an arm around his waist and a lingering kiss to his cheek.

Castiel is left speechless as Dean laughs his way out of the kitchen to join Sam in browsing the limited books in his bedroom since he hasn't brought anything up from the rectory’s basement yet. The only burnt items when Castiel puts the food out on the table is the toast, and that’s only because he spitefully set the timer on higher than it was when Dean put them in. It’s taken more will power than he’s willing to admit to not let such a silly joke get to him.

Sam and Dean leave after breakfast is cleaned up. It’s nice for Castiel to finally get back to his usual routine – morning and afternoon mass, picking the last of his crop and preparing the garden for what he’ll plant next year and everything in between. The only changes that he makes is when he does laundry day. He doesn’t do it on the same day of the week twice in a row, choosing at random what week he does it. When he tells this to Dean, he’s pleased and proud of the precautions Castiel is taking.

Those two drop in every week, sometimes more than once, while they do their search and work at stopping seals. Castiel is too busy with fielding phone calls from hunters in between his usual schedule to do the research of finding seals for them like he wants to, but they promise that they have the best researchers in heaven as their contacts and he doesn’t need to worry about it.

Sometimes they drop in just for a chance to relax over coffee and whatever Castiel ends up baking or cooking while they’re there. Doing little things like helping him with household chores makes them both nearly giddy. Dean especially seems to like getting to mow the lawn. Sam helps him build a little bookshelf for the kitchen to sit in the corner against the wall opposite from his bedroom. It doesn’t take long for Sam to start filling it with all the books that he collects, varying from law and politics to the classics. Castiel ends up building another for the books that Dean starts bringing back and sharing with him. He never asks where they get the books from.

Rarely do they accompany him out on errands – like going grocery shopping. When they do, they take Castiel themselves rather than in the car and it’s never to the same store. In the few months since his vacation, Castiel has shopped in stores all over the country and he’s pretty sure a few of them were actually in Canada. The precautions seem silly, but he understands that they’re doing it to keep demons from being able to pinpoint where he’s from.

Every day he gets texts from Dean and less and less often is it about food. Sometimes their conversations span days, discussing books and eventually also the TV shows that Dean has started watching while staying overnight in hotels (for surveillance, so he claims) or playing on the TVs in restaurants. Dean starts with a Spanish soap opera, which makes Castiel think he started watching it either in Spain or Mexico. Then he moves on to things like Days of Our Lives and to even be able to make any sense of it, Castiel reads synopses online while finding videos in his spare time. What Dean _really_ gets into a medical soap called Dr. Sexy and he raves for several messages about how Dr. Sexy wears cowboy boots and he makes them look _good_.

For the first time in a very long time, Castiel finds himself actually _jealous_. It surprises – terrifies – him to the point that he isn’t even slightly subtle when he changes the topic to something else entirely just so he doesn’t have to hear about this fictional character. Dean never comments on it and goes with the change easily, but Castiel does note that when they talk about the show it’s always about the plot and never about that specific character again. For a while Castiel is paranoid that Dean _knows_ what he did and why – but it never comes up even when he sees Dean face to face and he eventually forgets about it.

He has to try very hard to not think about _why_ he was jealous.

It’s the middle of November when Castiel has finally had enough. He’s noticed that every time they show up, there is more and missing from their suits. First it was the ties, and then their shirts weren’t tucked in, then the jackets disappeared and the shirt sleeves were rolled up. It’s when their belts go away and the cuffs of their pants get rolled up while helping around the rectory, shoes and socks kicked off into a corner, that he draws the line.

“What are these for?” Dean looks down in surprise at the sweat pants and t-shirt that Castiel shoves against his chest. Sam mirrors him, eyes wide as he looks at the flannel he has.

“Change into those and put your shoes back on. We’re going shopping.” Castiel points them toward the bedroom. “You look like slobs. If you’re not going to wear a suit properly, then you’re not going to wear it at all. We’ll go get you a few shirts, sweaters, pants, some better shoes and socks. And you’re going to get jackets because it’s nearly winter and people are going to think you’re crazy for going around without one. Don't you dare object. Just. Go.”

This time, they take both him and the car to the mall in Pontiac. Castiel likes driving and he needs to buy some more lumber so he can build them a dresser to keep all this stuff. It will have to be small enough to fit in between the bookcase and the closet in his bedroom. It’s not until they’re walking up and down the racks at the Good Will store that he realizes that having them keep clothes at his house means having them come around more – maybe even daily.

Sam gives him an odd look when he comes back to the shopping cart with a few different flannels that he tried on. Castiel realizes quickly that his smile is rather foolish and he ducks his head, a blush creeping up his neck as he tells Sam to go pick out a few pairs of jeans. He busies his hands with folding and separating Sam’s clothes from Dean’s.

They were like little children the moment they came in the door, practically running back and forth from rack to rack and asking Castiel if they could have anything their hands touched. He limited them to two t-shirts each, two flannels or button ups, one long sleeve shirt, a sweater or hoodie, and a few pairs of jeans. After those limits were set, it came time to having to get them to try things on and now they run back and forth between the racks and the changing rooms they decided to share.

Castiel wants them to have some decent clothing too that isn’t second hand, for the days when they need to dress nicer. He hasn’t liked anything that he’s seen so far here and none of the jackets fit either Sam or Dean. Their suits were a little misleading and Castiel realizes that they’re both more broad in the shoulders then he expected, and Dean’s chest and waist are thicker than his own.

After they’ve bought what they’ve picked out at the Good Will, Castiel has them put the bags in the car before they continue on through the rest of the mall. They’re not even in the GAP for five minutes before Dean drags them out, muttering darkly about smiting overly enthusiastic sales girls with high pitched voices. There are no problems with the sales clerks when they buy Sam a pair of sneakers and Dean settles on a set of lace up hiking boots.

It’s in some boutique for nice clothes – specifically the leather jackets that caught Dean’s eye – that they get a sales person _Castiel_ wants to smite. He stays standing by the entrance to the store with his arms crossed over his chest, guarding the bags with their shoes. The sales boy is younger than Castiel by nearly ten years and by anybody’s standards he would be considered attractive. But the worst part is that he’s very _devoted_ to the customers – Dean in particular _._ As soon as they were in the door, the sales boy was next to Dean and leading him to the jackets.

When the measuring tape comes out and the sales boy gets up close and personal to measure Dean’s shoulders and chest and waist, Castiel has to dig his fingers into his arms and bite the inside of his cheek to keep from making any undue comments. He’s wearing his clerical collar and if he snaps at someone for lingering fingers, he might give the wrong impression – the impression that he and Dean are _more_ than just friends. But they’re not and Castiel is fine with that because he doesn’t _want_ to be more.

Right?

It gets worse when the flirting starts. Castiel can tell that Dean is just being himself – the difference between what he does with Castiel and what he does with other people when he wants to get something out of it is rather obvious. But the sales boy is being too forward for Castiel’s liking and it’s sending a sick, angry feeling burning through his chest like an oil spill. He feels queasy and unhappy and he can’t even force a smile when Sam talks to him.

Sam keeps coming back with some nice jackets, asking about what colour or style he should get and Castiel tries to give him the attention that he deserves but it’s hard when the sales boy keeps _touching_ Dean. He can’t hear what they’re talking about but he can hear when they laugh and Dean keeps _smiling_ while he tries on jacket after jacket, never asking what Castiel thinks about them – not that he _needs_ to, but Castiel likes the darker red one with the multiple pockets best.

The last straw is when the boy tugs at the hanging draw strings of the sweat pants while pointing across the store at a wall of pants and Dean looks over, wide eyed and _interested_. When they walk over to it, Castiel catches the sales boy’s offer to help Dean in the change room with anything that he needs. That angry burn in his chest pushes up into his throat and starts making it hard to breathe. Castiel shoves one of Balthazar’s fake credit cards into Sam’s hands and mumbles something about getting their jackets themselves and being in the food court when they’re done.

He can’t watch anymore and he needs to get away before he goes for the gun tucked into the back of his pants and hidden under his jacket. If Dean notices that he leaves or if he even cares, Castiel doesn’t know, but he finds himself a table in the food court where he sits with a cup of coffee and the painful beginnings of a tension headache.

It’s been literal _months_ since his vacation with Balthazar and Castiel has been doing wonderfully with ignoring the argument the had. Even when Balthazar has called or visited since then, he’s known better than to make any sort of comment about Castiel’s relationship with Dean. They’re friends and that’s it. He didn’t – _doesn’t_ – want more than that and he shouldn’t be this upset just because Dean was flirting back with someone who clearly wanted certain things from him – wanted it blatantly enough that even Castiel could see it.

He’s known what Dean is like from pretty much the first day he met him. He’s seen Dean flirt with people all over but Castiel _knows_ that what they do is different. Castiel doesn’t know what to call it exactly but it’s _different_ and that makes him feel special. Which he shouldn't be because they’re _just friends_. He’s a _priest_ and Dean is an _angel_ and just because he’s had a few confusing dreams since his vacation where he's woken up needing a cold shower doesn’t mean that he’s doubting his vows. He has no control over what he dreams about.

He’s lived nearly thirty years never wavering in his decision to work for the Church. He’s never wavered in his vows even once since he made them. Why is it an _angel_ making him doubt all these things now? Talking with Dean, being around him, it makes Castiel feel all sorts of things that he’s not used to feeling – that he hasn’t felt since he was going through puberty in the second orphanage he lived in before going into the seminary. It’s not exactly uncomfortable – far from it, actually – but it’s confusing and irritating when he has to keep reminding his own body that he’s not interested in a sexual relationship or anything beyond just being friends.

That’s what they are and that’s what they’ll only be because he made his vows and Dean is an angel and there has to be some kind of heavenly law about humans and angels. His Biblical knowledge is a bit rusty, but Castiel is pretty sure that the whole thing with the Nephilim would have laid down some kind of laws about that. If they didn’t, then they sure as hell should have so he wouldn’t have to sit here and doubt the very way he’s chosen to live his life because of one _extremely tempting_ angel who keeps digging himself deeper and deeper under Castiel’s skin.

Castiel can’t do this anymore. He can’t have this _thing_ burning in his chest whenever Dean gets overly friendly with someone else. That was a part of Dean before Castiel started thinking of him like this and it will be a part of him long after he stops – and he’s praying for that day to come soon. Apparently ignoring the problem like he’s been doing doesn’t work. If anything, ignoring these burgeoning feelings has actually made it _worse_.

The text messages give Castiel something to look forward to outside of his daily routine and the highlights of his week are when Dean and Sam drop in for a few hours or even a whole day. He welcomes it and it’s so easy to forget that he feels like this when they’re just enjoying each others company.

Today has forced him to realize he can’t do that anymore and Castiel doesn’t want to acknowledge it. He wants to _run_ from it. He wants to jump into the car and drive home and lock himself in the rectory’s basement with all his books and drown himself in knowledge until everything goes away. But he’s selfish. He doesn’t want to give up his friendship with Dean or with Sam. They mean too much for him to be able to do that now.

When Castiel looks up, glancing around the food court for something, _anything_ , to take his mind off of his thoughts, he sees Dean and Sam walking toward him. Sam is wearing a green jacket that suits him and Castiel is pleased that he actually picked out something on his own. Dean is wearing the dark red jacket and it makes the fluttering feeling do somersaults in his stomach when he sees him wearing it and laughing while he talks with Sam. They look so _human_ walking through the mall like that, carrying bags and wearing normal clothes. They look comfortable and happy, like brothers out treating themselves and Castiel feels warm inside that he’s been able to give them a taste of what it’s like not to be angels working to save the world and just be themselves for the day.

That warmth changes and amplifies and becomes something so large and dangerous and _terrifying_ when Castiel looks at Dean and _wants_ him in all senses of the word. He wants to put his arms around him and _keep_ him. He doesn’t want Dean to flicker out of existence, disappearing until he comes back for whatever flighty reason that he chooses because Castiel has never asked them to visit. He’s never asked them for a schedule or anything and it's all on _their_ whim.

A swooping sensation flips in his chest when he thinks that he might want to try kissing Dean. He can remember when Dean had kissed him on the cheek the first night they met and a part of him hates – while another part is thankful – that he can’t remember what it felt like. And then he remembers the one while wearing the apron and that just makes everything worse because now he wants _more_. Castiel wants Dean’s hands to touch him, to hold him and make him feel like he means to Dean what Dean means to him. He wants to trace Dean’s face with his fingers and press any kind of kiss to his mouth and see if he tastes like a storm too.

But that’s not even Dean’s body. It’s someone else's entirely and Castiel will never see or be able to touch the real Dean. And that’s okay. He’s come to terms with that over the last while and none of that changes how he feels for Dean – vessel and all.

Castiel wants Dean to stay. He wants him and Sam to live in the rectory with him and he’ll build more rooms so they can have their own, or better yet Dean can share his room. He wants Dean to be there in the morning when he wakes up, waiting with a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper. He wants Dean to be there when he goes to bed at night, warm beside him. He wants to cook all the foods that Dean wants to try and sit with him when he watches Dr. Sexy with laser-like focus. He wants to buy a TV so that they can actually do that.

He’s never wanted so much from just one person before and he’s certainly never wanted someone he knows he can’t have. There are too many reasons that he can’t, no matter what he wants, and it’s not like Castiel can just out and say that he wants Dean to kiss him, or that he’s certain he feels more for Dean than what one should feel for ‘just a friend’.

Even if he did broach the subject, what does he expect? Does he expect Dean to reciprocate his feelings just because he sends him messages daily or that he’s his friend? Or because Dean almost always makes some kind of excuse to stand close to him or touch his arm or hand or neck or back in ways that wouldn’t be considered entirely platonic? Like the kisses that Dean presses to his cheeks whenever he wears that ridiculous apron? If Castiel looks for it, he can find so much evidence that Dean would have a positive reaction should he ever find out about this mess stewing in Castiel’s chest. But at the same time, Castiel can’t help but think that maybe what Dean does has a different meaning to him. Dean is an _angel_. Maybe physical contact is different between them and it’s just carrying over to Castiel.

The only way for him to know the answer to that is if he asks and if he asks then the conversation will eventually lead to talking about all the things that Castiel doesn’t want to talk about. He has his vows and he’s devoted his life to the Church. Just because he has feelings for an angel shouldn’t change the resolve he’s lived his life by. He’s been tempted by the physical – like the time Balthazar tricked him into going into a strip club – but he’s _never_ considered breaking his vows before and he can’t let Dean make him start now. He _can't_.

“So?” Dean grins when he drops into the seat opposite him and spreads his arms. “What do you think?”

Castiel nods, eyes sliding over how the jacket stretches and hangs over Dean’s shoulders and along his arms. It’s suits him well. “It looks very nice.” He looks to Sam too as he pulls up another chair. “And I like the one you picked too.”

“Thanks.” He smiles brightly, running his hand over one arm. “It took forever to get that kid to pay attention to me long enough to get my measurements.”

Dean rolls his eyes and starts patting at the pockets of his coat. “Don’t even get me started on him. He was almost as annoying as those girls at the GAP. If I didn’t _really_ want one of those jackets, I would’ve cleared out of there before he said two words.” He finds what he’s looking for and tosses a folded piece of paper down on the table. “He gave me his phone number. What do I need that for? I already got what I want.”

“I believe he was indicating that he wants to go out with you.” Castiel mutters the words around the edge of his coffee cup, barely able to keep the venom out of his voice.

“Well, yeah.” Dean flicks the paper, sending it skittering across the table. “But why the hell would I waste my time? All I wanted from him was the jacket. Almost everything else that I want, I get from _you_.”

Castiel doesn’t miss Sam’s smug smile or the way Dean’s eyes flicker up, watching him from under his lashes. It’s almost a shy look, one that sends hope spiraling through Castiel. But it’s a hope that _hurts_. He’s already decided that he’s not going to say anything. He’s going to wait until these troublesome feelings fade away, like everything else eventually does. It’s too confusing and painful to think of doing anything when he can simply keep things as they are now and let time take care of the rest.


	6. Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shakes his head. “No, thank you. I prefer doing things the good old fashioned way with elbow grease and sheer determination.” With the last bolt tightened, he steps back and drops the wrench into his tool belt. “If you want to help, you can start the car.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Pappcave's Reverse!Verse](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/Papp%27s-reverse%21verse). Papp has written a few things for it already (found at the link above) - part of Castiel's past included. 
> 
> And he was nice enough to do extra art for this fic too! Go give him some love!
> 
>  
> 
> **Updates the 15th and 30th of every month until the story is complete. And no, I'm sorry, I don't know how long it will be. For chapter statuses and information, please[check here.](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hunting+for+faith)**

It’s hard to pretend you don’t care for someone the way that you do. Castiel has never had to deal with this before. He’s never had to fight the urge to reach out and touch, or the desire to come up with excuses to allow for it. The easiest thing to do is put space between him and Dean. That space, as they finish their shopping at the mall, is Sam. No matter where they walk, Castiel makes allowances for Sam to be between them as he tries not to notice that since they left the food court Dean hasn’t been as talkative as he had been all day.

It might be because Castiel didn’t give any answer to his last statement. He didn’t know what to say to it. What does he give Dean that he doesn’t need to get from the sales boy? Castiel doesn’t feel like he gives Dean anything special that he wouldn’t want from anyone else. All he does is treat him like a person and as a friend.

Aside from some nicer jeans that they get from Walmart, there’s nothing more for them to buy except for the lumber Castiel needs to build their dresser. During the drive from the mall to the nearest home hardware store, Dean sits in the backseat for the first time. Every time Castiel glances in the rear view mirror, he could almost say for certain that Dean is pouting as he stares out the window. Sam is the one who holds the conversation, talking about how he’s interested in learning about computers. He’s used a few of them at libraries and he’d like to try using them more.

“Sam.” Dean says suddenly, leaning forward and grabbing his shoulder to cut him off mid-sentence. “Did you get the prayer? There’s a seal.”

“Go.” Castiel gestures with one hand, keeping his eyes on the road. “Deal with it. I can finish shopping on my own.”

“Are you sure?” Sam turns in his seat to look at him. “We can at least help get everything back into the Church so you don’t have to carry it on your own.”

He shrugs and gestures again. “I’ll be fine. I might even have your dresser built by the next time you drop in. You’ll put your clothes away on your own then.”

“We’ll take the bags back.” Dean passes a few of the bags to Sam. “We’ll change at h-” He clears his throat. “We’ll change at the Church.”

“If you need any help or anything, you call us.” Castiel doesn’t need to look to see the concern he hears in Sam’s voice. “We didn’t see any demons today, but that doesn’t mean that they didn’t see us.”

He nods, shoulder checking before changing lanes to pull into the parking lot for the hardware store. “I’ll be fine. You just worry about that seal.”

The sudden lack of having people in the car with him is a little jarring and Castiel tries not to think about it as he finds a parking spot. He doesn’t spend long in the store, knowing exactly what he needs and getting it. By the time he gets back to the Church, it’s nearly evening. The bags of clothes are piled neatly between the chair in his bedroom and the side of the closet. He moves the book case over, closer to the door to free up as much space between it and the closet as he can. It looks like he’ll have to build a taller dresser than usual to compensate for the lack of space, though he’s not sure about the number of drawers. It’s a good thing he bought a lot of wood.

After moving the lumber from the car to the workshop, Castiel spends the rest of his night drawing up plans and taking measurements. It’s at least something to keep his mind off Dean and how sullen he’d been before he and Sam left today. Dean didn’t even say goodbye and Castiel can’t remember the last time he left without a word.

Did he do something wrong? Was it what happened at the mall? Dean knows that Castiel doesn’t always know the right thing to do or say, especially when he says something flirty like he did. It shouldn’t have been so surprising that he didn’t react to it like he probably should have. As much as Castiel wants to just forget his feelings for Dean and not think about wanting to touch or kiss or simply be near him, he doesn’t want to do anything that would upset Dean either.

Perhaps that is why, when it’s well into the night and he hasn’t gone to sleep, Castiel picks up his phone from where it’s charging on the kitchen counter and sends a text to Dean. It’s just a short message asking for confirmation that he and Sam have finished dealing with the seal and if they’re alright. It’s not until after morning mass the next day, when Castiel is considering taking a nap, that he gets a message in response letting him know that they’re both fine but they weren’t able to stop the seal from breaking. The message is from Sam.

He’s grateful to have received an answer, but any thought of having a nap is long gone. Why didn’t Dean respond himself? Usually by this time of day, Castiel would have at least received at least a few messages from him. Is this all really because he didn’t respond to what Dean had said in the food court? Did he hurt Dean’s feelings? Or did Dean look into his mind and see Castiel’s thoughts about him? What if he did and he doesn’t like that Castiel wants more from him than just friendship? What if he did and he’s upset that Castiel isn’t going to act on those wants? What if Dean wants more too and the flirting is actually serious and – and – and –

And he needs to stop. All these worries aren’t going to help him stop thinking of Dean like that. If he doesn’t want to _want_ Dean anymore, than limiting his communication with Dean is a good thing. Castiel just didn’t expect that to hurt as much as it is. There’s a little pain pulsing behind his sternum as he tries to distract himself with cleaning, and measuring, and cutting, and cooking, and all the little tasks that he’s done for years to take up his time.

When evening comes and there’s no new messages from Dean, Castiel texts him again asking if he knows when they’ll come by again so he can have a pie ready. It takes an hour for him to get an answer, and Dean is usually so good at answering right away. This time his answer is only two words – ‘don’t know’. That’s as uncomforting as the lack of messages throughout the day.

Castiel hardly sleeps that night and he burns his breakfast in the morning. He can barely concentrate while holding his sermons and nearly drops his saw on his foot a half dozen times while cutting the wood for the dresser. The messages that he gets from Sam are a slight balm to his nerves, but it’s not exactly the same as the several he used to receive from Dean. And it’s not Sam’s feelings that Castiel is worried that he hurt.

By the end of the day, he’s had no messages from Dean and he has no appetite. He’s also had enough. Castiel doesn’t think he did anything wrong or anything different and that just makes it harder to understand why Dean is being so distant right now. The phone call is made from his reading chair, his shoulder pressed into the back of it and his knees drawn to his chest, feet tucked against the armrest. The line nearly rings out before it’s answered.

“Hello?”

It’s Sam. Castiel pulls the phone away from his ear to check the screen to make sure he called the right number. Dean’s name is showing above the numbers that mark the length of the call. He frowns and fists his other hand against his knee.

“Hello, Sam.”

“Hi, Cas. You don’t usually call when you can text. What’s up?”

“Nothing is ‘up’. Is Dean there?”

There’s a beat of silence before Sam answers. “Yeah, he is.” A solid thump and a hissed “ _Sam!_ ” tells Castiel more than he wanted to know. His empty stomach twists and a hollow feeling starts to grow behind his ribs.

“May I speak with him, please?”

He doesn’t like the silence that follows the question, or the scuffling that comes after that. There are no hissed words this time, but it doesn’t make Castiel feel any better. He wants to crawl into bed and sleep until mass tomorrow, but he doesn’t want to suffer through the time it would take to fall asleep and all the thoughts he knows are going to come during that time. He could dig out one of Balthazar’s bottles of wine and drink that until he passes out, but drinking always brings the nightmares and he hasn’t had one of those since when they went hunting together a few months ago for his ‘vacation’.

That in and of itself is surprising, actually. The nightmares usually happen at least once every few weeks. It’s why his sleeping habits are so terrible. He never knows if he’ll have a nightmare when he sleeps and he tries to put it off for as long as possible. It’s why he avoids drinking alone and he only really does it when he’s out with Balthazar. The nightmares don’t bother him as much when he wakes up with Balthazar already sitting on the edge of his bed.

He knows everyone he sees in the nightmares, the ones who actually died in the fire are already dead – but he often sees Balthazar burning too. Him and Uriel, sometimes even Anna. Both of them are alive and well and living their lives, as far as he knows. But having Balthazar there when he wakes up, not burning and not dead – it’s enough to calm him.

Thinking about the nightmares is only making him feel worse. Castiel tilts his forehead to his knees and tries to focus on locking all those feelings away, just like he’s doing with everything he feels for Dean. There’s muffled voices on the line now and Castiel thinks Sam might be covering the mouthpiece. He knows, from previous experience, that they both have very good hearing. If he speaks now, one or both of them will hear him regardless of whether or not the phone is by an ear.

“If Dean doesn’t want to talk to me, you don’t have to force him.” He says it softly and the muffled voices stop before he’s finished talking.

Castiel doesn’t know if Sam was going to say anything or if Dean was going to take the phone. He hangs up the call without looking, thumb slipping back to the number pad to hold down the one without moving the phone. This call is answered much sooner.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for bed, Cassie?”

Hearing his brother’s voice loosens some of the tension in his body, but not nearly enough to make Castiel feel any better. “I will when I’m tired.” He doesn’t even feel like correcting him for using the nickname.

“You sound tired. Go to bed.”

“Later. Where are you?”

He can hear the sounds of a bar in the background and that does little to help him place where in the country Balthazar is right now. “I’m pretty sure I’m in Arizona. It might be New Mexico. I’m too close to the border to be entirely sure.”

That’s practically on the other side of the country. “Are you coming to visit soon?”

After a moment’s pause and the sound of what Castiel is fairly certain is Balthazar chugging his drink, he answers. “Yeah, next week. But I can be there in a few days if you need me to. What did the bastard do this time?”

“Why do you assume Dean did something?”

“You didn’t answer the question.” Balthazar’s voice takes an edge to it. “I _know_ you, Cassie. The only time you don’t answer questions is when you’re trying to deflect away from a conversation you don’t want to have. Either you tell me what the rat bastard did to you, or I’ll call him myself since _someone_ went and put their numbers in my phone and I won’t be quite as nice with asking.”

“He didn’t do anything.” Castiel mumbles, less than pleased by how that isn’t even a lie. “We went shopping to get them new clothes, I’m building a dresser for them to keep the clothes in, they’re out searching and seal stopping. He hasn’t done anything –”

“Give me the whole story or not at all, Cassie.”

Sometimes he hates how well his brother knows him. This call is not making him feel better like he had hoped it would. But he doesn’t know what he should tell Balthazar. Everything? Castiel is fairly certain that he won’t take the news well about his full feelings for Dean, let alone that he’s hurt by how distant Dean’s being. If he mentions any of that, Balthazar might just start yelling and Castiel knows that isn’t going to cheer him up.

“Never mind.” He can just end this call and go watch a few episodes of whatever show catches his interest on the computer. “Good night, Balthazar.”

“Saturday. I can be there on Saturday. We’ll go out and celebrate thanksgiving a little earlier this year.”

Oh yes, that’s right. That would be why he’s planning on coming by next week. Castiel had almost forgotten that it was coming up quickly. The mention of thanksgiving reminds him that he was planning on making a full thanksgiving dinner to invite Dean and Sam too. Since it’s next week, he was going to wait until later this week to ask them. It would still have given him plenty of time in planning and he was assuming that Balthazar would show up for it like usual. They never have a big dinner, but at least they’re together for it – just like they’ll be for Christmas too.

But now that Dean is being distant, Castiel doesn’t know if he should even make the effort. If he says ‘yes’ and remains distant, the dinner would be awkward – especially if Balthazar is there too. He would just be angry at Dean and not even the spirit of the holiday would be enough to stop him. Castiel isn’t even sure if he’d want to stop Balthazar from yelling at Dean.

“Cassie? Is Saturday okay or do you want me to wait until next week?”

“It’s fine. Next week is fine.” He sits up a little straighter, rubbing a hand over his face. If he doesn’t invite Dean and Sam next week, at least he can still have a nice meal with his brother. “Enjoy your time in Arizona or New Mexico. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

Balthazar’s sigh is nothing but static over the phone line, interrupted by the low tone that tells Castiel that he received a text message. “Tell it to me straight, Cassie. Are you okay?”

The sound he makes is noncommittal as he pulls the phone away from his ear long enough to check the screen. When he sees Dean’s name in the message received box, he doesn’t even bother holding the phone properly to his head again when he tells Balthazar to wait a moment while he checks the message.

                _i'm sorry_

Castiel frowns at the two words. As nice as having an apology is, he’s not sure if Dean knows what he’s apologizing for. As it is, Castiel isn’t even sure what Dean’s apology is referencing. Is it for what he said at the mall? For being distant? For how he was acting with the sales boy? Castiel doesn’t know and he’s a little scared of asking. What is he even supposed to say in response? Should he accept the apology even though there are so many questions around it? Does Dean even want him to say something?

Maybe it would just be best if he put the whole thing out of his mind and stopped thinking about it. Dean apologised and if they’re going to talk about _why_ later, then he can worry about it again then. Right now he has Balthazar on the line and he should be paying attention to him instead of driving himself crazy over Dean. It has never been this hard to communicate with people before. Then again, he didn’t have this mess of emotion burning away behind his ribs for anyone else.

Is this what it’s like? All the paranoia and confusion, are those normal things to feel with being in – No. He’s not going to name it. Naming it gives it power and makes it _real_. It’ll be harder to fight and forget these feelings if he gives them any kind of a proper name.

He ignores the message and decides to forget about it. Dean apologized and that’s good enough. His attention instead turns to Balthazar and trying to convince him that there’s nothing wrong now. Castiel doesn’t tell him about his plans for thanksgiving and wanting to invite Dean and Sam. That can be a surprise and Castiel can threaten to make him go through the entire meal sober if he so much as even starts to raise his voice. Besides, he still hasn’t fully decided if he wants to invite them anymore.

Only at Balthazar’s insistence does Castiel actually go to bed that night and, surprisingly, he sleeps for most of it. There are a few texts from Dean waiting on his phone when he’s finally had his cups of coffee. The messages are about food again and they feel more impersonal than what Castiel is used to getting for him. But at least it’s something and it calms his nerves a little, though not enough to keep a dark worry from gnawing at his insides for the rest of the week.

On Sunday afternoon, well after the only services that he holds that day, Castiel works on the car. The last time he drove it was coming back from the shopping trip in Pontiac and he’s certain that he heard a knocking noise in the engine. The radio he has set up on the little cooler sitting against the side of the rectory is playing loudly, the jazzy tunes echoing across the property. It’s been a warmer November than usual and Castiel is taking full advantage of it with jeans and a t-shirt. The breeze cools him off, but the sun is warm on his back.

When the light clipped onto his baseball hat starts flickering, Castiel goes still. He’s elbow deep in the guts of the car and the only thing that stops him from ducking away and going for his gun is the high-pitched whine that interrupts the music. It’s only for a split second and then the radio starts skipping stations, blaring static in places before it settles back to normal. The fluttering rustle of feathered wings heralds the actual arrival of one of his guests and all the signs that came before that tell him who it is.

“Hello, Sam.” Castiel says it over his shoulder, never taking his attention from the engine. He’s in the process of tightening everything before he starts the car up to rule out something loose as the problem. If that’s not it, then he’ll get _really_ in depth and take apart the whole engine if he has to.

It was only after the first bookshelf was set up in the kitchen that Sam started popping in on his own. Unlike Dean, Sam always gives signs before he arrives - like the lights flashing and the radio flickering on and off. He rarely stays for longer than a few minutes, only dropping off one or more books and saying ‘hello’ before leaving to rejoin Dean wherever he is.

“Hi, Cas.” Sam answers, confirming that he’s standing somewhere off to Castiel’s right near the radio.

He looks up once, and only briefly, to confirm that Dean isn’t there. The sinking feeling in his stomach has nothing to do with how he hasn’t seen him since they went shopping and they’ve barely spoken through texts over the last week. Dean still sends messages about food, and once or twice they had a conversation that lasted for a dozen texts or so. But it was nothing like the conversations they used to have and Castiel doesn’t know what _changed_.

Worst of all is that Castiel notices that the bags of clothing in his bedroom moved slightly once or twice over the week. Dean – and maybe even Sam too – has been popping in and out for changes of clothes without saying anything and there isn’t any way for that _not_ to hurt Castiel. That’s what’s been holding back his appetite and his willingness to sleep. He’s been more tired than usual almost constantly all week and even though he manages to eat a few things during the day – an apple here, a banana there –  the thought of anything more makes his stomach clench uncomfortably.

“What books do you have today?” Castiel asks, forcing himself not to sound as put out as he has been. Even the parishioners have noticed and he’s been passing it off as saying he hasn’t been feeling well or that he’s been fighting with his brother whenever they ask.

“None, actually.” Sam sounds different, almost like he’s nervous. “Would you like help with that? I can fix it with just a –”

He shakes his head. “No, thank you. I prefer doing things the good old fashioned way with elbow grease and sheer determination.” With the last bolt tightened, he steps back and drops the wrench into his tool belt. “If you want to help, you can start the car.”

Sam looks surprised by the suggestion, but he follows it nonetheless. Castiel takes note of the item Sam puts on top of the cooler. It’s some sort of package, crudely wrapped in newspaper and with far too much tape – as if it were wrapped by a child. His attention is stolen again by the car as Sam reaches through the open window and across the wheel to turn the keys.

Castiel leans over the engine, listening for the knocking noise he heard before. Everything is humming, whirring, and purring as good as it ever has. Satisfied, he shuts the hood and gestures for Sam to turn it off. After retrieving his package, Sam gives Castiel the keys and accepts the bottle of water he offers from the cooler.

“I finished cutting all the wood for the dresser and its drawers.” He says it to fill the silence, tilting his head toward the workshop and its open doors. “I was planning on putting it all together today so you two can fight over who gets which drawers whenever you both visit again.” Castiel takes a long drink from his own water bottle before continuing hesitantly. “But I’m only going to build it if you two will actually use it.”

“Of course we will.” Sam says automatically as he rolls the bottle between his hands, his package tucked under one arm. “Dean would’ve come today too, but he’s busy with our search.” He looks around for a moment before leaning in and lowering his voice. “I think he’s just worried that you’re still angry with him or something.”

Castiel looks to him sharp enough that it nearly dislodges his hat. Absently, he reaches up to turn off the light that’s clipped to the brim. “Angry with him? Why would I be – I haven’t been _angry_ with him in months. Not since he stopped treating me like I was useless. Is that why he apologized the other day? Because he thought I was _angry_ with him?”

Sam tilts his head, his hair fluttering around his ears in the breeze. He doesn’t look confused by that, or even surprised. “See, that’s what I thought. I mean, you were a little more shut off after that store with the hands-y sales rep, but I didn’t think that you were pissed at us – or at Dean.”

He looks away and the flimsy plastic of the bottle crinkles in his hand when he squeezes it. “He’s being an idiot. I’m not angry with either of you and I’ve been going out of my mind trying to figure out why he’s been so –” Castiel stumbles over his words, unsure of which one to use for the first time in a very long time.

“Awkward? Infuriating? Walking on eggshells when talking to you?” Sam stops when Castiel turns a narrow eyed glare on him, but there’s still a knowing grin on his face and he shrugs. “If you think it was bad on your end, imagine what I had to deal with on mine.”

Now that he knows that he’s spent the last week worried that Dean knew more than Castiel thought he did when really it was all just Dean misreading his mood, Castiel is more than a little annoyed. Here he’d been thinking that Dean didn’t want to be his friend anymore for various, entirely plausible, reasons and was only forcing conversation to keep up appearances. But no, apparently that wasn’t the case at all. All this paranoia and nausea, the heartache and sleep deprivation, was because of a _misunderstanding_. Granted, Castiel can’t blame Dean entirely for it all. If he had just worked up the courage to _ask_ him what was wrong, he could have probably resolved all of this days ago.

“Yeah, he was moping pretty much everywhere. We’ve been camped out in the same unused motel room all week - except for when we got the prayers telling us about a seal and to change our clothes afterward.” Sam is still talking, his grin more than a little ridiculous as he follows Castiel toward the workshop. “He didn’t want to go searching, or even _eat_. It was kinda scary when a Dr. Sexy marathon didn’t cheer him up either.”

“He’s an idiot.” Castiel repeats, unbuckling his tool belt and exchanging it on the shelves for a tub of nails. He’ll start with the frame of the dresser first and then he’ll put the drawers together. If their size needs to be adjusted afterward, they’ll be the easiest to fix. Focusing on building the dresser might take away from how ridiculous he feels for this whole week.

Sam hums in agreement. “True. But he’s also the one who thought of getting you this.” His grin only gets bigger, if not slightly nervous, when he holds out the poorly wrapped package. “It’s half an apology gift from Dean, half a ‘thank you’ gift from the both of us for all the help you’ve given, and half a birthday gift because there was something about birthdays in one of Dean’s shows and even though we don’t actually know when your birthday is since we’re keeping out of your head, we thought we’d respect human traditions and get you something for that too. Congratulations on aging.”

Castiel puts back the hammer he just took off his wall of tools and he puts the nails down on his work table. There’s a fond warmth spreading through his chest, filling that hollow space he’s had all week and soothing away the raw edges to his nerves from all the worrying he’s done. He takes the package gently, turning it over in his hands and seeing the crude wrapping for what it really is. This is possibly the first gift that they’ve wrapped themselves and the excess tape curling up along the seams is almost endearing now.

“That’s three halves, you know. And my birthday was back in September. On the eighteenth.” He murmurs, smiling at Sam softly. “But, thank you. You didn’t have to go to all the trouble. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” Sam looks happier than Castiel can remember seeing him, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Dean said that you can open it whenever you want, he doesn’t have to be here for it.” He gestures at the package and leans in with the excited air of someone brimming with anticipation. “Go ahead. Open it!”

Sam watches closely as Castiel starts carefully peeling the tape and the newspaper apart. Since he was the one who actually paid for the apron, Castiel refuses to accept that it was actually a _gift_. That makes _this_ his first present from Sam and Dean and he wants to savour opening it. For a moment, Castiel does wish that Dean were here – if only to be able to thank him personally for whatever this might be. He’s pointedly ignoring the voice in the back of his head that tells him Dean should be here no matter what – as often as possible and for as long as he’s able because Castiel wants him in all senses of the word.

A little noise of surprise escapes him when all the paper is pulled away to reveal a rather decadent and _very_ expensive brand of coffee. “Where did you –” He cuts himself off. As angels, Sam and Dean can go all over the world whenever they want. It’s more than likely that they got this at the source – judging by the foreign script on the package. Castiel has seen the brand around, but he’s never consider buying it – though not for lack of wanting to. It’s simply too steep for his wallet.

He turns a warm smile to Sam. “Thank you. This is a wonderful gift.”

Sam looks extremely pleased with himself. “Have you had it before?”

“I haven’t. Have you?”

“No. Dean wouldn’t let me try any. Once we decided what to get you, he kept saying that it was for you and he wouldn’t let me get another bag of it for us to try back at the motel because then I might spoil the surprise or something.” He shrugs and steps out of the workshop, sticking his hands in the pockets of his zip-up sweater. “I think he went a little crazy trying to figure out what to get you. Kept going on about how it had to be perfect so you’d stop being mad at him.”

Something hot floods Castiel’s chest and he tries to ignore how it kind of hurts. Dean isn’t even here and he’s making it hard for Castiel to forget how much he wants him. He hides the tremor in his hands – from lack of sleep and so many other things – by extracting the bag from the rest of the newspaper and tossing the mess into the garbage. “Would you like to try some now? If you don’t have to go right away, you’re welcome to stay and share a pot with me.”

Sam tilts his head slightly when he looks at him, eyes bright and calculating. “Sure. I could call Dean too, if you want?”

As much as he would like to see Dean right now, there’s still that little burn of anger, that little ache of leftover hurt. His attempts at conversation over the last week should have been enough of a reason for Dean to know that Castiel obviously wasn’t angry with him. 

“I don’t believe that’s necessary.” He leaves his hat hanging on a hook in the workshop and brushes past Sam, stopping only to get the cooler and his radio. “Dean can stew in his idiocy for a little longer. You and I rarely get to spend time together and it would be nice to have a talk with you.”

Sam follows him around the rectory and into the kitchen. He stands by his bookcase, fingers dragging over the spines of the books while Castiel prepares the coffee. It’s a pleasant surprise to find that the coffee is already ground and ready for the maker. That’s a good thing, considering he’s not sure he owns an appliance to grind beans. Just as the pot is starting to fill and Castiel is getting the mugs down from the cupboard, Sam speaks again.

“As much as I would like to, I’m not going to tell you all the things that Dean wants me to keep secret from you.”

Castiel doesn’t even turn around while he’s getting the milk out for Sam’s coffee. He was expecting him to say something like that. “Even if I don’t like that you two keep secrets under the guise of protecting me, don’t insult me by thinking that I would try and get them out of you when I already know I can’t get them from Dean. You’re my friend too, and I want to talk to you as a friend.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” Sam bows his head and slouches in one of the chairs at the table, watching Castiel through his bangs as he empties the cooler. “The only person besides you that I really talk to down here is Dean. All our other friends are angels or in heaven.”

“Are you allowed to talk to me about them?” He keeps his hands busy while waiting for the coffee, putting together a few BLT sandwiches with leftover bacon from his breakfast this morning. He barely ate any of it and he’d made so much. Now that he knows what was wrong with Dean, his appetite – though never large to begin with – is coming back full force.

“I can tell you about our angel friends, I guess. But our other friends are our contacts and Dean will shit a brick if I say anything about them.” Sam leans his elbows on the table, reaching for one of the sandwiches before the plate stacked with them is even on the table. “Thanks.”

Castiel refrains from saying anything about what he’s figured out already from Sam’s words. By separating his contacts from his angel friends and specifying that they’re in heaven too, he’s basically said that his contacts aren’t angels – which means they’re likely human souls. For a moment, as he pours their coffee, Castiel wonders if maybe their contacts might be people he knows.

Personally, that isn’t a very long list. He knows the names of the hunters that call him and he hears through the grapevine when one of them dies. But Balthazar is really the only person he’s particularly close to. Of course, that’s of his own free will. If he wanted more friends, he could likely make them. Despite his hiccups with understanding people, everyone seems to like him just fine.

He hands Sam his coffee mug and takes a seat in the other chair. “Did you tell any of your angel friends that you were going to try and stop the apocalypse?”

Sam shakes his head and starts talking. They go through almost the whole pot of coffee during their conversation. Castiel learns that Sam and Dean used to part of a garrison that was often given the task of patrolling the humans’ heavens to make sure everything was in order and no one was being disruptive. They were warriors when they needed be, but often they had to take temporary vessels while they walked through the heavens.

That leads into two other conversations where Castiel learns about the different kinds of heavens and that an angel can only walk on Earth in their true vessel – but they can have multiple true vessels since any person who is part of a direct bloodline can be used, and bloodlines are different for each angel. But for walking through the heavens, the angels have a storage of blank vessels – bodies just waiting for an angel’s grace to fill them. Unfortunately, they don’t last long and they can’t be used on Earth.

After finishing his sandwich, Sam leans back in his chair and pats his chest. “If this guy hadn’t said ‘yes’, I would have moved on to trying to convince his sister, or his father, or his grandmother. I wouldn’t have been able to use his mother since she married the bloodline. But even if this guy said ‘yes’ to Dean, he wouldn’t have been able to take this body.”

“He was his own person once. Why don’t you use his name?”

For a moment Sam hesitates and glances down at his coffee mug. “His name is Sam. When I took his body, I took his name too. Dean did the same with his vessel.”

“Wouldn’t the angels be able to find you through that?”

“None of us know who are true vessels are until we go searching for them.” He shrugs, turning his coffee mug around by the handle as if he’s fiddling with it. “A true vessel bloodline resonates with the angel it’s connected to and _only_ that one angel. Then we have to choose who of that bloodline we want to try speaking to. I ended up with Sam because it’s just common sense to go for the most able bodied person. If I was walking around as a twelve year old girl, we wouldn’t get nearly as much done.”

Castiel nods. “That makes sense.”

“I thought you grew up in an orphanage and went straight on to seminary. Where did you learn to fix a car?” Sam changes the topic without notice and Castiel blinks at him over the edge of his coffee mug as the question processes.

The answer is a painful one and he doesn’t quite want to give it in full. Castiel looks down at his mug bracketed between his hands. “A friend of ours – Balthazar and I – taught me. He’s the one who taught Balthazar about hunting. Long story short, when I met Balthazar again before I entered seminary, he took me to our mentor and I learned everything that I know about hunting from him. He died a few years ago.”

“Is this a bad topic?” Sam’s voice is soft when he asks.

“I think to Balthazar he was like a father. But he was more like an uncle to me since I will always consider Father Christopher as my father. That doesn’t change that we were still close and it hurt when he died.” Castiel shrugs and looks up at Sam, surprised by the almost pained expression he’s wearing. “Sam, what’s wrong?”

“ _Fathers_.” Sam nearly whispers the word and it’s filled with a surprisingly uncharacteristic venom. His hands go tight around his mug, but his expression softens to one of longing as he stares down at it. “I just – I know what it’s like to lose someone.”

That confuses Castiel. It almost sounded like he was talking about two different people. The first filled with contempt, the second with loss. As an angel, wouldn’t God be Sam’s father? If that’s who he was talking about to start with, why did he sound so unhappy? Don’t all angels love God? And who is the possible second person that he lost? Another angel?

“Would you like to talk about it?” Castiel offers gently. “I’m told that I’m a very good listener.”

Sam huffs a laugh, looking back at Castiel with a tired smile. “It’s okay. It just still feels fresh. Even though it was a while ago, losing her still feels like yesterday.” The smile falls away and Sam gets a distant look in his eyes for a moment as if he were getting a prayer, but his eyes don’t glaze over like Dean’s do and he does look down at his hands again after a while.

Castiel wants to say or do something, but he doesn’t know what. If Sam was one of his parishioners he would hold his hand and tell him that his loved one is in a better place right now, that they weren’t in pain and that they’re happy. He would say all the comforting things that he only half believed in until he met Sam and Dean. But faced with a friend, one who already knows for certain all of those things, he has no clue what to say.

Their silence isn’t entirely uncomfortable, but Castiel does excuse himself to use the washroom. He’s contemplating changing out of the stained shirt he reserves for automotive work when he hears another voice in the kitchen.

“All you had to do was drop off the present! You weren’t supposed to stick around for coffee and donuts!” Dean is gesturing with his hands when Castiel comes up the hallway, his rosary swinging from his wrist. He doesn’t look as angry as he sounds. If Castiel had to guess, he’d say Dean looked envious, if not a little sad.

“It was sandwiches, actually.” Castiel cuts in as he passes through the corner of the kitchen to his bedroom. “I saved you one in the fridge if you’d rather have that than yell at Sam unnecessarily.”

He pauses in the doorway, glancing back to take in Dean’s wide eyes and red ears. Sam looks overly smug, grinning around the edge of his coffee mug as he glances between the two of them. Something tingles down Castiel’s spine when he meets Dean’s eyes and his ribs feel like they’re constricting, making it hard to breathe.

His throat and his mouth feel too dry and he has to lick his lips before speaking. “I’m going to change out of my repair clothes. You’re welcome to stick around and you can finish the pot of coffee if you want. I’d like to talk to you both about next week.”

Without waiting for an answer, Castiel shuts the door. He stands there and listens with his ear to the wood, only relaxing when he hears the fridge open. Dean is getting the sandwich and probably the milk for his coffee - which means he’s staying. It’s like a weight off his shoulders and Castiel breathes a sigh of relief as he gets changed into a cleaner t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants as quickly as he can while trying not to listen to the voices in the kitchen.

Having Dean around isn’t something that he should want, but it is and Castiel will continue to tell himself it’s because Dean is his friend. It’s perfectly natural to have your friends visit and he’s managed to keep himself from consciously thinking about Dean in ways that friends do not think about one another. Thankfully, with how little he’s been sleeping lately, his dreams haven’t had the chance to go to the places that Castiel doesn’t dare.

When he steps out of his bedroom, Sam is leaning against the counter with a bottle of water and Dean has taken one of the chairs at the table. Castiel doesn’t remember when there started being three chairs always at his table instead of two. Half of Dean’s sandwich is already gone and Castiel doesn’t miss how Dean sits up a little straighter when he steps into the kitchen. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, glances at Sam once and rather than speak he takes another large bite of his sandwich.

Sam rolls his eyes. “So, what did you want to say about next week?”

“Next Thursday is Thanksgiving.” Castiel starts cleaning up the dishes as he explains. “Balthazar will be coming over and we usually have a small meal together the night before since I have a late Church service before dinner on the actual date and I run the soup kitchen afterward. I was thinking that this year, if you two would like to join us, I could make a bigger meal.”

Someone steps up next to him and Castiel doesn’t even need to look to know that it’s Dean before he hands him his sandwich plate. It’s like every nerve in his body reorients itself to whatever part of him is closest to Dean and Castiel half believes that it has something to do with Dean’s angelic powers. For the first time in what feels like too long, when Castiel breathes in he smells a storm. For one delirious moment, before he catches the thought and buries it with everything else, Castiel wonders if Dean’s skin would taste like the electric tang of lightning in the air before it strikes.

“I thought I read that Thanksgiving was supposed to be a family thing?” Sam asks from his bookshelf, his back to the rest of the kitchen as he flips through one of the books.

“Family _and_ friends.” Castiel corrects him. “You spend the holiday with the people you care about.”

“And you wanna spend it with us?” Dean’s voice is much closer to Castiel’s shoulder than he expected and he nearly loses his grip on the dish in his hand. It’s just as surprising when Dean starts taking the dishes from the drying rack and uses one of the towels hanging from the stove door to dry them.

He glances at Dean and fights to ignore the odd flipping sensation in his chest and stomach when he meets his eyes again. “Of course. You’re my friends and I care for you both.”

Dean’s smile is like a breath of fresh air. Yet at the same time it feels like Castiel can’t breathe and he forces himself to turn away, dipping his head to acknowledge their thanks. Of course Dean immediately launches the conversation into what kind of foods they’ll have. They end up seated around the table making a list of everything. At some point, Castiel starts talking about the Thanksgiving dinners he used to have at the orphanage.

He tells them about how Balthazar used to try and sneak leftovers from the kitchen after it was lights out and how Uriel would always catch him and turn him in. He talks about helping in the kitchen and learning most of what he knows about cooking there – much like how he learned to garden from Father Christopher. That’s when Sam tells Dean about how Castiel had fixed the car earlier.

“Would it surprise you if I said that I know how to fix cars too?” Dean asks, eyebrows raised suggestively.

His grin is too sly for Castiel’s liking. “Of course not. Sam offered to fix the car with just a touch. It’s not a far cry to assume that you can do it too.”

“Not like that. I meant that I can fix it without my mojo. I learned how from a friend.”

“Would I be safe in assuming you’re referring to one of your contacts rather than another angel?” Castiel looks up from his list to catch Dean narrowing his eyes at Sam. “Don’t look at him like that. He didn’t tell me anything about your contacts. Both of you fail to choose your words carefully when you talk about heaven. It was almost too easy to figure out your contacts are human souls.”

“Fine. Yeah, he’s human and he taught me everything I know about humanity and cars.” Dean leans forward with elbows on the table and an almost wistful look in his eyes. “I even have a dream car, y’know? She’s ’67 four door, hard top, Chevy Impala. A black beauty with chrome detailing, bench seat in the front, gearshift on the steering column.”

“That… is a very specific dream car.”

“Oh, she’s real.” Dean sits up straight, eyes narrowing. “I haven’t found her yet, but she’s out there somewhere and I’ll find her.”

Sam snorts and rolls his eyes. “What do we need a car for, Dean?”

“Because she’s awesome.”

“For all you know, that car is scrap metal by now.”

A little of the colour drains from Dean’s cheeks when he looks at Sam and his voice is small but trembling when he speaks. “You take that back.”

Castiel muffles a laugh behind his hand, masking it with a cough while glancing at the clock on the stove. It’s later than he thought it was, but he doubts Dean or Sam would complain about a late supper. Normally, if it was just him, he wouldn’t bother with anything more than a snack at this time of the evening. But having guests – specifically having Dean and Sam here – makes him want to cook. He doesn’t want to just care for them, he wants to give them an experience that makes them happy – something they don’t get to usually have as angels.

Besides, Dean always seems so excited and happy when Castiel makes anything, even something simple. And Castiel won’t admit it, and he tries not to think about it, but he likes how Dean smiles whenever he takes out the apron. Castiel is almost certain that whenever he uses the apron it’s for its practical purposes and not because of what Dean does whenever he puts it on.

It was only last week that he realized that he wants to kiss Dean and be kissed by him. Was every time he put on the apron fueled by that desire and he just hadn’t figured it out yet? That question gives his hand pause when he reaches for the drawer where he keeps it folded.

Sam and Dean are bickering about the benefits of having a car and neither of them have noticed Castiel’s hesitation. He doubts they’ve even noticed that he left the table. But if he hadn’t stopped and wavered in his decision to use the apron, Castiel might never have looked out the window over the sink while he weighed the pros and cons of taking it out to cook tonight and he might not have seen the car parked on the other side of the fence.

The sun set a little while ago, but the road is lit by the street lights that end a little further down the highway past the Church. From the kitchen window, Castiel can clearly see the two men leaning over the hood of the car, pointing and gesturing at what must be a map spread over the metal, if the fluttering edges caught in the wind are anything to go by. There are also two women sitting in the car, one twisted around in the front seat to talk to the one in the back.

The scrape of the chair legs on the floor precedes Dean’s voice at his shoulder. “Cas? What are you looking at?”

“People.” Castiel turns away, side-stepping Dean to duck into his bedroom. “They seem lost. I’m going to go see if they need directions.”

“Hold on.” Dean grabs his arm and it’s like lightning along his nerves where Dean’s hand is closed just above his elbow. “Let’s make sure it’s not demons.”

Sam is on his feet too, across the kitchen and next to Dean within moments. All it takes is a glance out the window for both of them before Dean lets go of Castiel’s arm. “Coast is clear. They’re good.”

That doesn’t stop Castiel from tucking a gun into the back of his pants while he slides on a pair of sandals before going outside. He gives Dean and Sam orders to start preparing rice and a few other ingredients for a stirfry.

“Aren’t you going to put on a sweater?” Dean calls after him. “The thermometer on your window says it’s cold out!”

“I’m only going to be a minute.”

He regrets the decision before he’s even out of the shadow of the rectory. At least he should’ve put on proper shoes. The night is considerably cooler than the day had been and Castiel curses the temperamental November weather. Although he is looking forward to the snow.

The people at the car look up at the crunch of the gravel of the driveway. Rather than go around the fence and onto the road, Castiel stays on the property and crosses the grass to lean on the fence, right next to a post that had warding symbols carved into the bottom of it before he put it in the ground.

“I’m the priest here.” Castiel gestures over his shoulder at the Church. “Are you lost?”

“Sorry –” One of the men steps away from the hood. On closer inspection, Castiel sees that they’re no older than Sam’s vessel. “We didn’t mean to bother you.”

“It’s no trouble. I can help you, if you’d like. Where are you trying to get to?”

“Long Point.” He turns back to the map and scratches his head. “I’m telling you we turned the wrong way at Graymont.”

Castiel points along the road in the direction they were heading. “Keep going that way until you reach N 300 E Road. It’ll be the number 16 on your map. You’ll turn right onto it and just keep going until you pass Flanagan. Stay on that for a ways until you come to Long Point Blacktop – or E 2600 N Road. Turn left and keep driving. It ends in Long Point.”

Both men blink at him for a moment before squinting down at the map. One of them traces his finger along the sheet before whistling. “Well, I’ll be damned – shit, sorry, Father.”

He waves his hand, brushing it off. “Is there anything else that I can help you with?”

The woman in the front seat has the window partially down. She lowers it the rest of the way and leans out. “Would we be allowed to use your washroom? It’s kind of an emergency –” She gestures over her shoulder at the girl in the backseat. “Lauren’s pregnant and she can’t hold it until Long Point coz’ her bladder’s the size of a walnut.”

“Ava!”

“What? Priests like honesty. I’m just being honest.”

Castiel smiles and turns around, gesturing at the Church. He’d rather they use the bathroom just inside the doors then he would having them in his own home. Not to mention that Sam and Dean are in the kitchen. He can see them passing in front of the window when he turns around. Dean waves and Castiel waves back as he leads the two ladies across the lawn toward the doors.

“Who’s that?” Ava asks from his right. Lauren is lagging behind them while their companions stay at the car. “The guys in the window, who are they?”

“Priests in training.” The lie rolls off his tongue too easily and Castiel isn’t even bothered by it. “We’re just in the process of making a late dinner.”

For an instant, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and a chill runs down his spine. It only lasts a second but it’s enough of a warning for him. He darts to one side, away from Ava as he reaches for the gun in the small of his back. Lauren’s gunshot echoes in the night air and he feels the sting of the bullet as it grazes his arm. She turns the gun on him again and Castiel hesitates. He could return the shot, easily. Wound her, or kill her. But Lauren is _clean_. She was cleared by Sam and Dean. Why is she –

“Cas!” Dean is at Lauren’s side, her wrist firmly in his hand and forcing her arm down until the gun is aimed at the ground.

“I’m fine.” He immediately turns his gun to Ava in case she pulls out a weapon of her own, but he never takes his eyes off Lauren. “Why did you attack me?”

“Dean!” Sam shouts in warning and Castiel looks away just once to see where he is.

He’s standing by the car with his hands on the back of the necks of both men, pinning them face down to the hood. That isn’t the important thing though. It’s the dozen or so people spread out across the road, dotted intermittently on the aged concrete and watching with black eyes.

“Fuck.” Dean hisses, knocking the gun from Lauren’s hand. “Cas, we’ve got demons.”

“I can see that. But they won’t be able to get on the property.” Castiel glances at the posts, vividly remembering every symbol he carved into them when he built it. “Get the humans over the fence. They’ll be safe with me.”

He gets one withering look from Dean before he touches Lauren’s forehead and she collapses into his arms, the gun clattering into the grass before Dean lowers her to lay down. Castiel snatches the gun up, keeping his own trained on Ava. She’s watching him with bright eyes, but she’s not moving – just standing there and _smiling_ at him.

Sam dumps the unconscious bodies of the men over the fence as Dean sprints across the lawn and hops the fence to join him. Castiel has to divide his attention then. He wants to watch what’s happening on the road, but he needs to watch Ava too. Lauren had a gun, who knows what Ava might be hiding under her shirt. At least, from the multiple times that he looks, Castiel doesn’t see any white eyed demons or angels – although he’s never seen other angels before, so he’s not sure he’d be able recognize one from a glance alone. Dean mentioned pretentious airs and suits once, but Castiel isn’t sure if he was joking.

“You’re not going to win.” Ava grins as she sits down. “Azazel told us where to find you. He told us that if we helped to lure out the angels he’d reward us.”

“Who is Azazel?”

“If any of you live, you should ask your angels that. But even if you do live, you’re not going to win. Alistair, Lilith, Azazel – they’ll free Lucifer and then he’ll bring hell to Earth.” Her grin is terrifying. She’s speaking about the apocalypse – something that could be the end of the world as they know it – and she looks so very _serene_. “Azazel promised if we helped that our families would be okay. My big brother, my mom. We’d all be safe from everything. Given places of power even. I hope we get Australia.”

Insane. She must be insane.

“But the rest of the world –”

“Don’t know them. Don’t care.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

She shrugs and taps her fingers on her knees. “To each their own.”

There are shouts, screams, black smoke and bright white light behind him. Castiel wants to look for longer than a glance, but from where he’s standing he can see Lauren, Ava, and the two unconscious men laying by the driveway. They were the only ones that he’d seen from the window. All four of them were at the side of the road. Assuming there was four to begin with is, perhaps, Castiel’s greatest mistake.

At first he doesn’t even notice the pain. It’s just a pinching feeling in his left side. But it’s a pinch that becomes a burn, a searing sting that steals his breath and makes his knees go weak. His side feels damp and hot and it hurts. But why? Why does it hurt? What happened?

“ _Finally_.” Ava sighs and she stands, slapping at her clothes to knock the dust from them which just seems odd to Castiel. “Ruby, I thought you were going to stay hidden forever.”

“Shut up and let’s get the hell out of here.” Her voice is all Castiel’s knows of Ruby and even then it’s a muddled mess. Ava’s too. They sound like they’re coming from too far away.

She shoves him forward and he nearly falls to his knees. Ava almost knocks Castiel off his feet as she brushes past. He doesn’t turn to look after them. His fingers feel thick and fumbling, his hands too heavy to hold the guns anymore. They both end up in the grass and it takes more coordination than Castiel thinks he has to put a hand to his side. It comes away red.

“Oh.” He murmurs, barely noticing the wet heat slipping down the side of his leg.

Stabbed. He was stabbed. Ruby had a knife and she _stabbed_ him. There was a fifth and she stabbed him and it hurts worse than anything Castiel can remember ever feeling. A hospital. Castiel needs to go to a hospital. But it’s so far away and he’s certain he won’t be able to walk there, and he’s in no condition to drive. Dean. He should get Dean. Dean can drive the car – or maybe Sam can. Do they even know how to drive? Why does that seem like such a silly notion?

Through the haze of pain, through the bleary thoughts that make him feel drunk, there’s one thing Castiel can focus on. _Dean_. He needs to find him – go to him. Dean can help. He can get Castiel to a hospital. At the very least, Castiel doesn’t want to die alone. If blood loss is going to be what takes him down, then he’d rather die in the arms of an angel. God help him, he might even tell Dean how he feels.

Castiel’s first step is staggered. His legs don’t want to work right and one of them feels sticky and wet all down one side. The second step is no better than the first and he pitches forward, barely catching himself before going to his knees. He’s not even sure he’s going in the right direction. Everything looks like it’s in a fog and his body feels so numb except for that bright, burning pain in his side. Even sounds don’t sound right.

“What happened to that gi- Cas?” Voices are a blur of noise, the meaning of the words lost in the thump of his heartbeat in his ears. “ _Cas_!”

Hands are on his shoulders and Castiel collapses under the weight of them, sagging forward against a solid body of heat in a quickly cooling world. The hands become arms, cradling him to the ground. Compared to the rest of the world, Sam and Dean are in startling detail.

“Did you know you have green eyes?” The words feel too heavy on his tongue. Castiel isn’t even sure if they make any sense or if they’re the ones he meant to say as he reaches up to leave smeared streaks of red on Dean’s cheek. “And freckles. I like your freckles. And your eyes.”

He doesn’t get an answer. Sam pulls his hands out of the way as Dean grabs fistfuls of Castiel’s shirt. There’s a sharp tug that nearly lifts him from the ground and suddenly it is much colder on his chest then he would like it to be. Dean’s fingers are on his skin, slip sliding in the blood and Sam keeps saying sharp words at him. They both look upset – desperate, worried, _scared_.

Wasn’t there something he was supposed to tell them? Oh, right. “Hospital.” Castiel groans the word when Dean prods at the pain and it only burns more.

“No, Cas, I can heal you. I’m going to make everything better again.” Dean leans over him, his hand on Castiel’s cheek and it’s warm – so very warm. “Just stay with me, okay? Don’t go to sleep. If you see anyone but us, don’t go with them. Stay right here with me.”

“You _can’t_ , Dean.” Sam lets go of Castiel’s wrists to grab Dean’s instead. “It’ll be too big of a spike. They’ll find us.”

Dean shoves Sam away. “I’m not going to let Cas _die_! He’s lost too much – it’s too deep – he might –” He stops talking for moment before hissing the rest of the words. “A hospital won’t be able to save him.”

Their words don’t mean anything when Castiel realizes what’s happening. He’s _dying_ on the lawn in front of the Church. Surprisingly, this situation isn’t that far off from how Castiel thought he would go. The angels are a bit of a surprise, but the rest is par for the course for a hunter. When a stray thought about Balthazar flickers through his mind, Castiel tries sitting up. He should find his phone and call Balthazar and say ‘goodbye’. He can’t leave without telling him that.

“You’re not going anywhere, Cas.” The words sound like they’re spoken into his ear and there’s an arm around his shoulder, holding him against a chest broader than Castiel had expected it to be. “Watch for the others, Sam. I’m healing him.”

“I’ve got a better idea.” Sam says, and then he’s gone from Castiel’s right side, leaving it feeling even colder than before.

Everything is becoming so cold and it’s getting hard to hold his head up. It’s so much easier to lean it on Dean’s shoulder. Something warm closes around his hand and squeezes, but Castiel doesn’t even have the energy to squeeze back. If he can ignore the blood on their fingers, Castiel thinks he rather likes how their hands look together and he wishes that he had the energy to lift his head enough to nose at Dean’s collarbone, or press a kiss to his jaw. If he’s dying, he’d like to have at least _one_ –

“Use him.” Sam drops another body next to them. Whoever it is must still be alive. Either that or the groan came from Castiel. “Power your healing with this soul. It’s less mojo to touch a soul than it is to heal. They won’t notice it and you’ll be able to fix Cas.”

“You have floppy hair.” Castiel mumbles, looking up at Sam as Dean lays him back on the grass. “I like it. S’fluttery an’ soft lookin’.”

“His speech is getting worse. Sam, lay out the other guy and hold him down.” Dean’s orders come quick and concise as he carefully crawls over Castiel to kneel between him and the other man.

This time Castiel is certain the groans are not his own as Sam rolls the man onto his back. But now even Sam and Dean are starting to get blurry and Castiel is having trouble focusing on them. There’s a shadow in the corner of his eye, someone slowly walking across the parking lot far behind Sam. He should tell Dean that someone else is coming, but he can’t find the energy to do it – not when he can barely keep his eyes open to watch as Dean places one hand on Castiel’s side directly over the wound.

Dean does something entirely different with his other hand. Holding his fingers like a scoop, Dean touches his the tips to the other man’s sternum. Castiel’s eyelids feel heavy and he’s too tired to even be bothered by the person slowly coming up behind Sam. The shock of the man’s scream and the bright light that spills from his chest is enough to wake Castiel up a little. It even stops the person behind Sam and they both watch as Dean actually _pushes_ his hand into the other man’s chest.

But even the screams start to sound dull to Castiel. Everything feels so far away and meaningless now. He’d really just like to sleep now. At least he knows what to expect on the other side. A heaven all his own. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he might get to see Dean and Sam again someday. That would be nice. It would be something to look forward to at least.

“No, Cas, _no_.” Dean hisses, pushing harder on a wound Castiel can’t even feel anymore. His eyes slide closed and it’s a relief to sink into the dark. “Cas, please, just hold on a little longer.”

Sam’s voice raises above Dean’s and the screams of the man, but it sounds even further away than and it fades into the dark with everything else. “No! You can’t have –”

x

If Sam hadn't told him what a person's personal heaven usually is, Castiel would probably be more surprised by seeing the roof of his bedroom when he opens his eyes. What does surprise him is that it's the rectory's ceiling and not the one from the orphanage. Sam said his heaven would be the place that he was the happiest. Castiel misses the orphanage and Father Christopher every day. He assumed that would be his heaven.

But the longer he thinks about it, the more he realizes that he was happy working at the Church and living in the rectory too. The rectory was his home and he loved it. With it he gave Balthazar the closest thing to a home he has outside of his car. And he gave Dean and Sam a place to come to instead of hiding out in unused motel rooms. It was his home, and their home, and now what are they going to do?

Castiel presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to will away the tears that sting behind them. They were there. Sam and Dean were _there_. He died almost directly in Dean's arms. Now they're going to have to deal with the bodies from the demons _and_ his own. They're going to have to call Balthazar and tell him the news and – and heaven is a lot more depressing than he thought it would be. Isn’t he supposed to not remember his last moments? Isn't he supposed to be disillusioned into thinking that he's still alive so he can have an eternity of peace?

That makes Castiel think. What if he went to hell instead? Like any hunter, his shoulders are weighed down by the lives he didn’t manage to save. But Castiel is almost certain he's never done anything in his life that would deserve him to be sent to hell. The worst thing that he can ever think of doing is lying. As a hunter, he had to lie even though he was a priest. It was necessary. It kept people safe. But – what about how he felt for Dean? Would that be enough? Despite never acting on the temptations, would simply having _had_ them be worthy of an eternity in hell?

This place being hell actually makes quite a lot of sense. It's the only reason Castiel can think of for why he can hear Balthazar snoring. He always called it his own personal hell whenever they had to share a room and he wasn't able to fall asleep before him. Balthazar doesn't always snore, but when he does it's loud, grating, and annoying enough to keep Castiel from being able to get to sleep.

The distant sound of a hammer is a little confusing though. It sounds out of place and curiosity has Castiel sitting up. He doesn't get much further than that, stopping and staring at the figure curled in Castiel's reading chair at the end of the bed. Balthazar has his arms crossed over his stomach, legs thrown over one arm of the chair as he leans back against the other arm.

Slowly, Castiel extracts himself from the blankets. If this is heaven or hell, he doesn't want to disturb this Balthazar. Right now, he'd rather see what the rest of this place looks like. The scales tip toward thinking this is heaven again when Castiel looks down at his side. He's only wearing a pair of his pajama pants, but his side is healed. The skin where he can remember the stab wound haven been is a little red and when he touches it gently, it's rather tender. Castiel can only guess that if this was hell, he'd probably still have a gaping gash in his side.

Quietly, he pads out of his bedroom. The kitchen looks the same, right down to the bag of fancy coffee on the counter and the bookcases against the far wall. Castiel follows the sound of the hammer. He doesn't bother with shoes or a shirt as he steps out of the rectory even though he can feel the coming winter chill under his feet. His garden is empty, nothing but patches of black dirt ready for the next season. The hammering sounds like it's coming from his workshop and Castiel heads toward that. Everything looks the same and sounds the same, and another option is quickly gaining ground in his mind. Perhaps this is neither heaven nor hell. Maybe, just maybe, Sam and Dean managed to save him and he's actually alive.

Castiel doesn't make it to the driveway. He stops at the corner of the house. Dean is sitting slumped against the side of the workshop, his knees are drawn up and his elbows are resting on them. His hands are folded tightly around the rosary and his forehead is tilted against his fists. Before Castiel can take a step or even say anything, Dean moves. His hands drop and he stares across the yard at him. In a blink, Dean goes from sitting beside the shed to standing directly in front of him.

" _Cas_." Dean breathes his name into the curve of Castiel's neck where he presses his face, arms circling around his shoulders tightly. "You're awake."

He goes still under the hold, curling his hands into fists to keep them from clutching desperately at Dean's sides or worse, hugging him back. Doing that would be disastrous. Castiel can't guarantee that he would be able to let go, or to keep his fingers from curling in the back of Dean's shirt. If he holds onto Dean, he might hide his face against his neck too and who knows where that would lead.

His memories after he got stabbed are broken and hazy at best, but Castiel can remember Dean being close. He can remember the burning heat of his body against his side and Dean's voice in his ears, even if the words are lost to him. But Castiel can remember the want. He can remember wanting to kiss Dean and tell him exactly how he feels for him. To the best of his knowledge, Castiel didn't say anything.

It takes a moment for Dean to pull away, but even then one of his hands stays on Castiel's shoulder as the other touches his side. "I healed you in the nick of time, but you were still out for a day and a half. How are you feeling?" He looks relieved, but at the same time there is a concerned frown creasing his forehead as his fingers brush gently above his hip.

"I'm fine, Dean." Castiel says softly, keeping himself from making a face at how weird it feels to talk. His tongue feels too big and his mouth feels fuzzy. It would have been a good idea to have brushed his teeth before he came outside. He carefully touches Dean's wrist, guiding his hand away from his side. Dean's fingers feel too warm on his skin and it’s not helping to make him stop wanting them to touch him more. "Are you and Sam alright?"

The question is like a revelation to Dean. He looks surprised by it. His hand slides down Castiel's arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind before it falls away at his elbow as he turns to call over his shoulder. "Sam! Cas is awake!"

There's a slight crash and a curse from within the workshop before Sam stumbles out. He's wearing Castiel's hat backwards and without the light. He sprints across the yard to join them. Of course he asks the same question that Dean did, although he doesn't hug him. Sam does put a hand on his shoulder though, squeezing it once before stepping away and smiling just as brightly as Dean is.

"Aren't you cold?" Sam asks, gesturing at Castiel's state of undress.

He is, but he hadn't really noticed. There are too many questions weighing heavily on his mind for him to care about the state of his body. Before Castiel can even answer, Dean removes his over shirt and drapes it around Castiel's shoulders. Worry still creases his face and even though Castiel won’t admit that he likes the attention, he doesn’t like the way Dean is looking at him. It reminds him too much of how he looked at him before.

It wasn’t too long ago when he managed to convince Dean that he didn’t need to be protected. Hopefully this won’t make Dean think he’s useless again. Sam nearly died before too and Castiel hasn’t seen Dean ever treat him like he’s fragile, so perhaps there is hope. He can pray, at least.

“Let’s get you back inside.” Dean puts his hand on Castiel’s shoulder and turns him around. “Does Balthazar know you’re awake?”

“He’s sleeping.”

“No, he bloody well is not.”

Castiel winces at the look on Balthazar’s face. He’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed tightly over his chest and he’s glaring at all three of them. The lecturing rant that Castiel expects never comes. As soon as he’s within reach, Balthazar pulls him into a hug almost as tight as Dean’s was.

For the first time in a very long time, Castiel gets to sit at the table while Balthazar cooks him something to eat – after he makes a trip to the bathroom. Dean never asked for his shirt back and Castiel doesn’t ask if he wants it back. It’s warm and it smells like storms. Castiel buttons it up while coming back from the bathroom and barely even looks at Dean as he sits back at the table. As Balthazar curses out the eggs, Castiel recites what he remembers before he woke up. He tells them about the demon that Ava mentioned named Azazel and how he was stabbed by a girl named Ruby.

While he eats, Sam and Dean recount how demons had kept coming one after another. They’re certain a white-eyes – Lilith or Alistair – was behind the attack because the demons were appearing in the middle of the street and after Castiel was stabbed, they all vanished. Castiel isn’t sure if it’s the angels or Balthazar who looks the unhappiest about the fact that apparently the goal of the whole attack was his death.

Rather than let them dwell on that unfortunate news, Castiel moves the conversation on to what happened after the demons disappeared. He listens intently to how Dean couldn’t use his powers to fuel his ability to heal without sending up a red flag for the angels to find them. Sam points out that if the angels are working with the demons, then they probably already know where Castiel is too – which is why he’d done a more unique kind of angel-proofing to the entire property afterward. Castiel resolves to ask more about that later, after he’s finished hearing about how he didn’t die.

Balthazar gets up to dig out a bottle of wine from under one of the cupboards when Dean explains about using the soul of one of the men who had been on the lawn as a kind of battery. It wasn’t his own energy being used, meaning heaven wouldn’t be able to home in on his location for healing Castiel and how he almost didn’t manage it in time. Sam takes over the story to describe the reaper who had arrived to ferry Castiel’s soul to the other side and how he had to hold him off long enough for Dean to heal him.

“You should still take it easy.” Dean stops pacing long enough to fix Castiel with a firm look. “We had to put up a notice that you were sick to keep your parishioners away.”

“I’ve been turning away well-wishers all damn day.” Balthazar grumbles before tilting back the rest of his glass. “You’re too well liked for your own good, Cassie. Heal up fast so I don’t have to do that again.”

It’s Balthazar’s turn to explain how Sam called him for his location and brought him to the Church to watch over Castiel while he and Dean cleaned up the mess and fortified the property with spells both of them decline commenting about. All Castiel needs to know is that there are only two angels in the known universe who’ll be able to come and go from the rectory and it took some very creative symbol usage to make that possible.

“Yeah, never did tell you that Sammy’s a genius, did we?” Dean grins, reaching over to ruffle Sam’s hair. “I got all the brawn, he got all the brains.”

Castiel knows it’s not true and he says as much. They’re both smart and they’re both strong. Sam looks pleased but Dean flushes slightly and turns away. It’s a rather nice feeling to make Dean be the one who blushes and Castiel wonders what other things he could say to make that happen. He only thinks on that for a moment before he remembers that he’s supposed to be distancing himself from everything that he feels for Dean.

The rest of his day – or what’s left of it, since he woke early on a Tuesday afternoon – is spent sitting in bed and reading. Balthazar naps on and off in the reading chair while Sam returns outside to finish building the dresser in Castiel’s stead. Dean, however, stays in the house. Castiel can hear him banging around in the kitchen sometimes, and he could set his watch by when Dean pokes his head into the bedroom to check if he needs anything, or when he brings him snacks or drinks. It’s been a long time since anyone has taken care of _him_ and Castiel feels both pleased and embarrassed by it.

Balthazar only fully wakes up when Dean pops back into the kitchen with a few boxes of pizza. They talk about Thanksgiving plans over dinner and Castiel is almost amused by the dirty look he receives from his brother. There are no snide comments or anything of the sort, but Castiel is sure that as soon as Sam and Dean are out of earshot, he’s going to get some kind of unhappy rant. It might even be in text message form, since Dean announces not long afterward that he and Sam are going to stick around until after the big dinner they’re having tomorrow.

No one takes it well when Castiel tells them he’s opening the Church again in the morning, or that he still plans on running the soup kitchen on Thanksgiving night. It’s an unhappy uproar in the kitchen that Castiel sits through calmly. They rant about how angels and the demons could find Castiel easily while he’s out in the town and Balthazar is adamant Castiel closes the Church permanently now that they know there are _humans_ working with the demons too.

Castiel refuses. He has his duties to attend to. The Church is just as much a part of him as hunting, it’s a part of him like Balthazar is and it’s a part of him like Sam and Dean are quickly becoming. He’ll just adjust his life to compensate for these new hurdles. It means he’ll have to be less trusting about the people he’s alone with, and he’ll have to be prepared for demons at any and all times, but Castiel is sure he’ll be able to do it.

It’s when Balthazar, Sam and Dean start creating an organizational chart about _guarding_ him that Castiel objects. He doesn’t need a protector and he won’t tolerate it. If any one of them even _tries_ to follow him to the soup kitchen on Thursday with anything more than the intent to help serve the homeless and hungry, he threatens to ban them all entirely from the rectory for an untold amount of time.

“You don’t have the time to protect me.” Castiel points out, trying to make them see how illogical they’re being. He looks to Sam and Dean. “You have the seals to stop and your search to do. And you –” He turns to Balthazar. “There are hunts to do and people to save. I’m not as important as all the lives you could be helping.”

“You’re more important to me than people I don’t even know.” Balthazar shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, I can take a break from hunting. But you have a point about the idiots.” He looks at Sam and Dean, completely unbothered by their frowns. “Your jobs are more important than mine. I can keep an eye on Cassie, but you two have work to do.”

Castiel voices his dislike for this plan by slamming his bedroom door and locking it. He refuses to admit to himself that he’s sulking, or that he’s happy to know that they care about him to such an extent. He likes that they want to take care of him, but at the same time he doesn’t like it. As a fully capable adult and hunter, this shouldn’t be necessary – no matter how much he means to them or vice versa. There have been instances where Balthazar has almost died, and others where Castiel was in his place. But neither one of them had gotten _this_ protective afterward.

How is now any different from then?

The questions come and go, distracting his thoughts from the book he attempts to read right up until he falls asleep. More than once he struggles to forget that he nearly died. There had been a reaper there. That shadowy figure he’d seen had come to show him to the other side. He was literally only steps away from death and he’s alive now because of Dean. It’s a sobering thought that follows him into his dreams.

Into the dreams where fire consumes his memories, makes them insignificant and unimportant. Nothing matters because the fire is and always will destroy it all. It licks at the walls around him, eating away at the bloodied symbols painted everywhere, their impressions burned into the backs of his eyes. Laughter rings in his ears, echoing over the screams that come from all around him, like the very world is burning and Castiel can hear its pain. It’s hard to breathe through the smoke and his lungs struggle with every breath as he staggers down the halls, calling for someone, for anyone.

He sees the wings first, pinned to the wall and singed black by the flames. Castiel stops breathing. His chest is too tight, ribs squeezing with that horrible feeling of dread. They were never there that night and they shouldn’t be here now. They shouldn’t be engulfed with a fire that burns blue, screaming as light fills their eyes and spills from their mouths, shining through the melting holes in their skin.

The hand on his shoulder pulls him from the nightmare. In the confusing transition from fire to darkness, to moonlight through the window and the red numbers of his alarm clock, Castiel realizes one thing. It’s not Balthazar that’s woken him and he’s the only one who ever does. It’s someone else, someone different, someone who doesn’t smell or feel human, and Castiel reacts on an instinct fueled by the memory of his nightmare and the phantom pain in his side.

He twists away from the edge of the bed as he draws the gun out from under his pillow. The trigger is pulled and the shot echoes in the small room and Castiel recognizes the surprised face in the meager light only a moment after he puts a bullet between Dean’s eyes.


	7. Thanksgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn't stop Castiel from explaining the nightmare. He listens, eyes shadowed in the dark, as Castiel describes the orphanage and the symbols on the walls. Castiel knows he's babbling as he gives detail to the smoke that had choked him and the heat of the flames, but he can't stop. He can't stop telling Dean about the wings on the walls and the light in their eyes as he and Sam were burning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Pappcave's Reverse!Verse](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/Papp%27s-reverse%21verse). Papp has written a few things for it already (found at the link above) - part of Castiel's past included. 
> 
> And he was nice enough to do extra art for this fic too! Go give him some love!
> 
>  
> 
> **Updates the 15th and 30th of every month until the story is complete. And no, I'm sorry, I don't know how long it will be.**

With the gunshot still echoing in his ears, Castiel stares at Dean and Dean stares back at him. Neither of them says a word and as his eyes adjust in the light, Castiel can make out the thin trail of blood snaking down between Dean's eyes and along the side of his nose. It’s a few minutes before someone breaks the silence and Castiel flinches at the sound.

“You _shot_ me.” Dean breathes out, eyes wide with surprise.

He drops the gun – in horror or surprise, Castiel isn’t sure which. Dean darts forward to catch the gun before it hits the floor, sighing in relief as he slips the safety on. He places it on the bedside table and looks to Castiel again. “Be more careful with that, okay? I don't exactly like the idea of being shot twice in one night.”

His hands are shaking. There's still fire burning behind his eyes, as if the images from his dream are seared into his head as vividly as the actual memories they’re based from. Dean had been broken and bleeding in the dream too as flames swallowed both him and his screams. Castiel knows it was just a nightmare, but he can't stop seeing it. He can't stop see Dean dying, even though he's clearly standing only a few feet away alive and well. Perhaps that's Castiel’s motivation behind kicking off his blankets and stumbling from the bed, almost tripping over his feet while he reaches for Dean.

“Cas?” Dean sounds as worried as he looks. “What's wrong?”

He thought the blurred edges of the objects in the room could be contributed to the dark. When the first warm tear slides down his cheek, Castiel knows he was wrong and he doesn't care. More follow as he fits his palms to Dean's face to hold him still while he checks that he's okay by touch, making sure that there's still breath on his lips and that he blinks when Castiel’s fingertips brush his eyelashes. Dean catches his wrists before his fingers can slide into the blood already fading on his skin – just like the dark blotch of the bullet hole in his forehead.

There's a noise in the room and it takes Castiel a moment to realize it's _his_ voice. He's murmuring apologies, choked words that catch with every other breath. He can't for the life of him understand why they won't stop, or figure out when they even started. This isn't the first time that he's shot Dean, and it's probably not the last time that he's going to see it happen – not with Balthazar as trigger happy as he likes to be. But this is still _different_. He just saw Dean dying – saw the light of his grace through the skin of his vessel as he melted away, wings spread and feathers charred. It was only moments ago that Dean was dying and then Castiel went and made him actually _bleed_ and it's his fault, it's all his fault.

The nightmare leaves his lips, falling into the space between them in hiccoughed words and tears. Dean's fingers grow gentle around his wrists but they weigh on Castiel's hands, dragging them down until they're resting along the sides of his neck. Even though he knows Dean doesn't need to breathe and he doesn't need his vessel's heart to beat, he can still feel a pulse thumping steadily under his hands and it's strangely grounding. It's a clear, rhythmic reminder that Dean is very much alive no matter what his nightmare tried to convince him of.

Dean doesn't stop Castiel from explaining the nightmare. He listens, eyes shadowed in the dark, as Castiel describes the orphanage and the symbols on the walls. Castiel knows he's babbling as he gives detail to the smoke that had choked him and the heat of the flames, but he can't stop. He can't stop telling Dean about the wings on the walls and the light in their eyes as he and Sam were burning.

“You weren't supposed to be there.” Castiel manages to force out around the tightness in his throat as he digs his fingers into the back of Dean's neck. “It's _my_ fault, you were there because of me and you _died_ and it's my fault and –”

In hindsight, the hug should have been expected. Dean has never been one to hold back on the physical contact when it's needed and now is, perhaps, one of the times when Castiel needs it the most. Balthazar never really hugs him after a nightmare. He usually sits beside him with an arm around his shoulders until Castiel manages to calm down, but it's never been like this. It's never been his chest pressed against a solid wall of heat, or his cheek against the side of a smooth neck. Dean had pulled his arms down when he stepped forward to hug him, arms circling Castiel's shoulders tightly.

It takes Castiel a moment to react. When he does, it's with a small broken noise. He buries his fingers in the back of Dean's shirt, grabbing handfuls of the fabric as he holds on and turns his face to press his nose into the soft skin of his throat. The tears are coming more freely now, but they're not so scared as they are relieved. Dean is very much alive and there's nothing for Castiel to worry about right now. There's nothing but the fading memory of a dream brought on by the stress of nearly _dying_ and Dean is here and holding him, trailing fingers through his hair and hushing him quietly.

Castiel grounds himself in the hug. He's surrounded by Dean in so many ways right now – the warmth of his vessel, the rumble of his voice in his ears as he murmurs comforting statements and that lightning and thunder scent that covers the phantom stench of burning flesh. He's not dead – not from the fire and not from the bullet. Dean is _here_ and he keeps repeating it over and over again. “I'm fine, Cas.” and “I'm here, Cas.” and “It's okay, Cas.”

It _is_ okay. For a few minutes, Castiel can allow himself to be this selfish and let Dean give him the support that he needs right now. If this was any other time, he would have stepped away from the hug as soon as Dean had pulled him against him. But this is okay. It's not something like a _kiss_ or anything more that would indulge in the feelings he has for Dean.

The light brush of fingers down the back of his neck is a good distraction from those thoughts, drowning the memories of the nightmare and how Castiel actually _shot_ him. He hasn't even thanked Dean for saving his life the other night and he went and he put a bullet in his head – in the one place that he didn’t know would actually hurt him or not. He tells Dean 'thank you' now, sniffling and mumbling it against his collarbone and the string of the amulet. It makes Dean stop for a moment, hand pausing on the back of his neck. There's a huff of warm breath by his ear and Dean's shoulders shake slightly under his hands as if he were laughing.

“Don't worry about it, Cas.” He murmurs and Castiel can feel the rumble of his voice in his chest. “Are you okay now?”

Castiel nods slightly, muffling a yawn in his throat. As worked up as he is, the odd tear still sneaking out between his eyelids, he's starting to feel tired. It feels weird – feels _wrong_. Normally it's almost impossible for him to fall asleep after a nightmare, and never so soon after one. It occurs to Castiel, after the third yawn and around when his body is starting to feel heavy, that this isn't natural.

“Dean, are you making me sleepy?”

“You nearly died the other day and you don't get enough sleep as it is.” Dean's voice sounds distant, but it’s a pleasing rumble of noise that vibrates across his skin. “You need to rest and you're too worked up, so I’m just giving you a little nudge.”

He wants to object. It's not right to make him fall asleep against his will, though he's not sure if he even wants to go back to sleep. What if he has another nightmare again? He'd rather go be productive and keep himself busy to distract from everything that happened – including this hug. Castiel is well aware, as he lets his hands drop to Dean's sides to push him away, that he's going to be thinking about this hug for as long as he'll be able to remember it. Just like how he's been haunted by the memory of Dean holding his hand – though when he thinks about it now, he cleans their skin of blood and he tries not to remember that the original image comes from a time when he was dying.

“You shouldn't –“ Castiel manages to lift his head, though that is a struggle all of itself, and cuts off with another yawn that he muffles behind closed lips.

It makes his ears pop and he frowns blearily at Dean's smile. It’s too amused for Castiel's liking and the longer he looks at him, the more Castiel notices just how _close_ they’re standing. He can actually _feel_ the soft puffs of Dean's breath against his mouth. For one delirious moment, Castiel actually thinks about kissing him. The idea has been lingering in the back of his mind since he woke up alive instead of dead. Almost dying kind of puts things into perspective and Castiel is only slightly horrified that he's certain that one of the regrets he would have as he passes into the next life would be leaving without telling Dean how he feels.

The thought evaporates when Dean tilts his head and grins cheekily. “Did you know that your nose and cheeks go Rudolph-red after you cry?”

Castiel frowns at him. He can't remember the last time he saw himself after he cried, so of course he doesn't know what he looks like. But he's been around enough people who cry to know that people are rarely attractive at such a time – during or after. And especially when they've just woken up from a nightmare. When Dean cups his cheek and runs his thumb under his eye to wipe away the last of the tears, Castiel turns his face away from the touch. He'd like to pull away entirely, but Dean is almost inhumanly warm and Castiel feels so heavy. It's like that simple touch had set off a new wave of tiredness and he drops his head to Dean's shoulder.

“It's okay. Just give in and go to sleep, Cas.” Dean's voice sounds like it's coming from a distance now, even though Castiel can feel it like it's as tangible as his presence all around him.

He mumbles something, unsure of what he says. But whatever it might have been makes Dean chuckle softly. Castiel is pulled sharply from the fog of sleep when he feels lips against his temple, but he starts to drop off again until Dean lifts him. He struggles to stay awake, blinking heavy eyelids to watch Dean as he carefully tucked back into the bed. Dean sits on the edge of the bed and runs a hand through his hair, each touch only making it harder to keep his eyes open. By the third sweep of his fingers, Castiel's eyes are closed.

“I'll watch over you, Cas.” Dean murmurs and Castiel isn’t sure if he dreams that and the kiss to his forehead.

By the time he wakes up, his room is completely lit by the sun coming through the window. The clock tells him that it's well after when he usually wakes up and Castiel briefly wonders what happened to the alarm he set before he went to bed last night. It was supposed to go off hours ago.

There are loud voices in the kitchen and Castiel groans the moment he recognizes them. He pulls the pillow over his head and puts the alarm question out of his mind. If Dean was so insistent that he get some sleep, then it's entirely possible that he turned off the alarm and stole his cell phone to make sure that he got the rest he needed after the nightmare. Castiel musters up the energy he'll need to deal with Dean and Balthazar bickering about whatever inane thing they're going on about now. It's too early for all that – especially if he hasn't had his coffee yet.

Coffee. Yes, that sounds like a good idea. Castiel is in desperate need of both that and the bathroom. He drags himself up from the warm comfort of his stolen blanket and pillow. The room isn't cold and Castiel briefly wonders if it's going to be another oddly warm November day. It doesn't matter to him much, since he'll be spending the day conducting mass and preparing tonight's Thanksgiving dinner.

On his way to the door, Castiel catches his reflection in the mirror mounted on his closet and he realizes that he's still wearing Dean's shirt. He hesitates, contemplating changing it before he goes out – but he doesn't want to give it up just yet. He'll change after a shower.

“Just give me the damn bag you overgrown feather duster!”

“In your dreams, asshat! This is Cas's special coffee. I got it just for him and no dickheads are allowed to have any without his permission!”

Castiel sighs. At least he knows what they're fighting about before he even leaves his room. The moment he steps into the kitchen, Dean and Balthazar fall silent. Sam is sitting at the table and he looks up from his book long enough to greet him. Castiel barely even looks at him, more focused on how Dean is practically sitting on the counter and holding the bag of imported coffee out of reach, his hand firmly planted against Balthazar's forehead while Balthazar is reaching for the bag. The moment he walks toward them, they both straighten themselves out and stand side by side.

“Good morning, Cassie. You look like hell warmed over.” Balthazar gives him a cocky grin and tries for chipper, likely hoping to dissuade Castiel from doing something drastic like punching him in the throat for making a ruckus so early in the morning.

Dean is a little more resigned, his face tilted toward the floor while he looks up at Castiel through his eyelashes in the same shy look he'd used in the food court last week. It has little effect on him at the moment, though it does make his heart skip a beat or two. Castiel holds his hand out for the bag of coffee and Dean hands it over without question.

“ _My_ coffee.” He nearly hisses at Balthazar, satisfied when he flinches away.

They both retreat to the table while Castiel fusses with the coffee maker, ensuring that it has enough water in it for his standard amount and at least one cup for everyone else. He thinks that this might be the first time since he purchased the machine that he's filled it to maximum. That gets something warm pooling in his chest and Castiel ignores it in favour of carefully measuring out the coffee grounds from the tub in the cupboard. After waking up to their bickering, he doesn't feel like rewarding Dean or Balthazar with the good coffee today.

He waits until after his shower and after changing into his usual sermon outfit, clerical collar firmly fixed in place, before he has his first cup. Dean has it and a bowl of cereal waiting for him at the kitchen table when he comes back into the kitchen. Even Castiel's bed is made when he takes a detour to dump his dirty clothes in the basket in his closet. Despite being not entirely happy at the moment, Castiel still manages to mutter a 'thank you' before he takes his first sip of coffee.

It takes two whole cups before Castiel is awake and in control of himself enough to be sure he won't say or do anything too harsh that he might regret. He clears his throat and everyone looks up at him. Sam immediately ducks back behind his book and Balthazar carefully lifts the newspaper up like a barrier when they both notice that Castiel is staring across the table at Dean.

“Am I in trouble?” Dean asks quietly, slouching in his seat.

“No, Dean. Not quite.” Castiel stands, gathering the empty coffee mugs at the table. “As thankful as I am for what you did last night, don't _ever_ use your angelic abilities on me like that again without my permission. Am I understood?”

Any argument that Dean has is never voiced. He frowns down at the table and nods, not even flinching when Balthazar drops the newspaper and glares at him.

“What did you do to Cassie? You said he went back to sleep last night.”

“Don't start with him.” Castiel warns as he starts washing the dishes from their meager breakfast. “I appreciate Dean's help from last night. I just don't want him to do that again unless I ask for it. Being put to sleep by angelic powers isn't all that different from being drugged.”

“I wouldn't _drug_ you!” Dean sounds insulted.

Castiel almost winces. “You know that's not what I meant.” He turns around after putting the last dish on the rack and draining the sink. “I have mass soon and I need to prepare the Church. The list of things I need for tonight's dinner is on the fridge. Can I trust you three to get along together long enough to do an inventory check? Someone will have to go shopping after mass to buy everything we don't have.”

“Who's going to go shopping?” Balthazar asks, folding the newspaper.

Dean raises his hand. “I vote Cas stays here.”

“Seconded.” Sam raises his hand too and Castiel rolls his eyes at all of them when even Balthazar nods his agreement.

He leaves them while they’re still discussing who will get to go shopping together. Mass takes a little longer than usual, although there are less people attending today. It takes a while for everyone to leave, most people wanting to stop and make sure that he's doing better and more than a few wait around to use the confessionals after not being able to relieve themselves of their sins earlier in the week like they usually do. Castiel finds that many of his parishioners like to confess every week in the first few days of it so they can face the rest of the week with a clear conscience.

It a pleasant surprise to find that Dean and Balthazar aren’t fighting when he gets back to the rectory. Balthazar does look slightly more smug than he probably should and Dean seems a little grumpy – and that makes Castiel a little wary.

“What happened this time?” He asks while he starts pulling pots and pans out of the cupboards.

“We drew straws to see which two of us would go get the stuff.” Dean explains, holding up the ingredients list. “I’m going alone.”

“I thought you said _two_ were going.”

Balthazar gets up to drag a bag of potatoes out from under the cupboards. “Because I drew the other short straw and he refuses to take me with him. He’s got a list, one of my credit cards, and a cell phone to call us if he’s confused. Even _he_ can’t mess up something simple like that.”

Dean shoots him a dirty glare as he stands up and turns to Castiel. “I'll be back in an hour. If there's any other stuff you want me to get, just text me.” He pauses for a moment before pointing to Balthazar. “Don't let the dickhead wear your apron.”

Castiel does wince this time when Balthazar looks up sharply. “Apron? What apron?”

A choked laugh is all they hear from the table and Sam lifts his book to cover his face again when they look at him. Balthazar shares a look with Castiel before he slaps a knife down on the table in front of Sam with a large mixing bowl. Sam looks over the edge of the book, watching in confusion as Castiel puts the garbage can next to his chair and Balthazar hoists the bag of potatoes onto the table beside everything else.

“If you're going to play Switzerland in all of this, then you're going to peel potatoes while you're at it, chuckles.” Balthazar smiles at him, handing one of the potatoes to Sam.

It's Dean's turn to muffle a laugh and he doesn't even bother hiding his grin. Castiel checks the list over once before he lets Dean leave. It's mostly just seasonings that he's low on and things that he doesn't have enough of for the entire dinner. As he expected, Balthazar laughs hard enough that he actually has to sit down when Castiel puts on the apron. He's so used to it by now that he doesn't even care about the image on the front anymore. The only thing Castiel is both grateful for (and slightly disappointed about) is that Dean isn't here to kiss him on the cheek like he always does when he puts it on. He doesn't look forward to any kind of reaction Balthazar would have to _that_.

The first thing Castiel wants to do is make the desserts. They'll bake while he prepares the turkey and that can cook for the rest of the day. Balthazar prepares the filling for the pies as Castiel works with the dough he'd prepared yesterday. Sam carefully peels the potatoes in silence and Castiel is aware that he keeps glancing back and forth between them.

“Is there something on your mind, Sam?” He asks after catching him do it for likely the fourth time.

“Sorta.” He ducks his head and brushes the peels from the table into the garbage can. “I'm just wondering about your nightmares. Do you get them a lot?”

“Cassie doesn't really like talking about them.” Balthazar cuts in before he can answer, his voice sounds tight and he looks unhappy when Castiel glances at him. “Why don't we talk about that dresser in the workshop – how's that coming along?”

“It's fine. But Cas is a big boy. He can answer questions on his own.” Sam gestures vaguely with the knife. “If you don't want to talk about it, I understand. I was just curious.”

Castiel shrugs and carefully pushes the rolling pin over the dough. “It's not a very happy topic, so I won't tell you what happens in them. But I usually have one every week or so – more if I choose to drink. Which is why I never do that unless Balthazar is going to be around.”

“How come?”

“Because I wake him up and help him through the worst of it.” Balthazar explains, cutting the apples with a little more vigor than necessary. “I would have done it last night, but I was sleeping in the basement and didn't know anything was going on until I heard the gunshot.”

He pauses while fitting the dough to one of the pie pans. “But you didn't come in last night.”

“Sam stopped me from interrupting you and your guardian angel.” Balthazar grumbles, not looking up from the filling. “And he did such a bloody _fabulous_ job I didn't bother doing more than listen at the door to make sure he didn't try and take advantage of you or anything equally sinister.”

Castiel is torn between thanking Balthazar for not interrupting and berating him on thinking that Dean would do anything to him while he was vulnerable like that. And Balthazar seems a little too upset for Castiel's liking, so there's that to address too. He has the sneaking suspicion that he knows exactly what is bugging his brother right now, but he's not sure that it's a subject he should broach in front of Sam.

Balthazar makes that choice for him when he thumps a bowl of prepared apple filling next to him. “At least you know now that the next time you have a nightmare you'll at least have the option of going back to sleep afterwards.”

“You're being ridiculous.” Castiel can't help his smile as he hands him a knife and the rolling pin, directing him to prepare the top of the crust for the apple pie. “Dean won't always be here for my nightmares and neither will you. It’s just like how I don't always call you after every one that I have. I'm an adult and I can take care of myself after I have one, but it'll always be nice to have my big brother help me after them when I do ask for his help.”

That gets him a small, lopsided smile in return. “Am I really that transparent?”

“Like a sheet of glass.” Sam mumbles from the table and Castiel has to grab Balthazar's wrist to stop him from throwing one of the leftover apples at him.

“Earlier I was wondering how you could possibly be related to Dean. I can see the resemblance now.”

“Try not to think about how we have millions of brothers and sisters too. We all have our different personality quirks, but we're all related.” His grin is teasing as he takes another potato from the bag.

“Incest must run rampant among you.”

“Balthazar!”

“What? You heard him. If angels have sex with each other and they're all siblings, technically it's incest. Isn't there something against that in the Bible?”

Castiel shoves Balthazar away from the counter. “We are not talking about that! And you are _not_ going to quiz Dean or Sam on angelic relations while I'm in mass this afternoon. Swear it to me now or I'm going to tie you down in the back pew and you're going to sit through the whole thing with me.”

“If you do that, who's going to be in here cooking the meatballs and squash, and steaming the vegetables? Your angels? When's the last time they cooked anything without your help?”

He has an answer to his actual question, but one of the things he said reminds Castiel about something he's forgotten and he bites his tongue to keep from cursing. “I completely forget the meatballs.”

Balthazar turns a horrified look on him. “Cassie, you _didn't_! Those are my favourite!”

“I know, I'm sorry. Get out the slowcooker. I'll fry them in a pan a bit first to speed up the process a little.” He digs the box of pre-made meatballs out of the freezer. Usually he'd prefer something handmade, but these are Balthazar's favourite. “Did you put the sauce on Dean's shopping list?”

“Of course I did. I'm insulted you asked.”

The kitchen is a whirlwind of baking and preparation after Dean comes back. Sam peels the entire bag of potatoes, which ends up being half a bag too much for what they need. A good portion of them get put away in the freezer for future use. Since Castiel is aware that Balthazar has a low tolerance for kitchen duty, he gives him the cell phone that the hunters call and lets him take care of what few calls come through so he's not burned out by the time afternoon mass rolls around.

Preparing Thanksgiving dinner never seemed like so much work when he makes it for just him and Balthazar. Having two more mouths and bodies present shouldn't make that much difference, but Castiel wants to make this special. It's going to be the first Thanksgiving for Dean and Sam – that he's aware of – and even though he isn't getting very fancy with the majority of the dishes, he still wants to give them the full experience to the best of his ability.

Aside from the pointless, and rather petty, squabbling that Dean and Balthazar get into over the afternoon and before dinner, Castiel is still grateful that he has so many willingly helpful hands. Dean is very attentive when Castiel puts him on pot watch, making sure that nothing boils over. Sam sticks to taking care of the potatoes, mashing them when they're ready and reading his book in between whatever tasks are given to him.

By the time they actually sit down for dinner, Castiel is exhausted and certain that he's going to sleep well tonight. He even gets a happy grin from Balthazar for the decent amount of food on his plate, although the grin turns slightly sour when Castiel reaches for his hand. Balthazar rolls his eyes and is overly dramatic when he puts his hand in Castiel's. It takes a little more willpower to keep himself from over thinking anything when he gestures for Dean to take his hand too.

Once everyone is holding hands, Castiel murmurs a quick prayer in thanks of food, family and friends. He doesn't miss the quick, happy smiles that Sam and Dean share before they start eating. The beginning of their meal is quiet and conversation is slow to begin. Aside from the pending apocalypse, he can't think of much to talk about that everyone would be able to participate in – and that's a topic he already warned everyone that they wouldn't be talking about tonight.

“So what was that book you were reading all day?” Balthazar asks, using his fork to gesture to Sam.

Dean smothers a grin behind his wineglass. “I got him reading it. It's the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy in one book. Once he's finished that, we're going to see the movies together.”

“I liked The Hobbit better.” Sam points out, not even flinching under Dean's disapproving glare. “Can we see those movies before we see the others?”

Castiel looks up from trying to spear a meatball. “I may not be very up to date on the movie scene, but I'm fairly certain that they haven't made any Hobbit movies.”

“Not _yet_.” Dean is almost giddy and he leans forward over his plate. “But we can time travel!” His grin slips and he sits back in his chair. “Shit, Sam. I just remembered we can't do that anymore. Not until everything here is wrapped up.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam slouches a little and pushes his potatoes around on his plate. “It was more wishful thinking, I guess.” The silence lasts for a handful of moments before he looks up again. “Have either of you read the books or seen the movies?”

“I read the books, but I haven't seen the movies.” Castiel says as he gestures around the room. “I don't exactly have a television and I only watch things on the computer when I'm bored and there's nothing else to do.”

Balthazar pours himself some more wine. “I'm the exact opposite. I've seen the movies but haven't read the books. I don't have the patience for reading.”

“Not true. You read that horrendous vampire series.”

“That was out of morbid curiosity and you're about as wrong as they were.” He waves him off, shoving a meatball into his mouth and continuing after he swallows. “I _had_ all the books. Borrowed them from a library and forgot to return them. But I never got off the first page of the first one. Remember? You're the one who mailed them back.”

“I didn't know you didn't read all of them.”

“The movies aren't any better.” Dean interjects and there's only a heartbeat after that before Balthazar laughs so hard he nearly spills his wine. Even Castiel can't help laughing and he tries to hide it behind his hand, not wanting to hurt Dean’s feelings. But Dean still grins at him like he counts it as a personal victory when he can make Castiel laugh.

Their conversations continue easily after that and Castiel learns more about everyone's likes and dislikes – including Balthazar. He didn't know that his brother saw the Cirque du Soleil or that he really enjoyed the show. When it comes to Sam, he learns that he's not very big on TV or movies like Dean is. Castiel had thought that they shared the same tastes, since Dean seems to watch so much of it. But it seems that Sam is more interested in reading and learning – and he would still really like to get a laptop to carry around with him.

Castiel  was already well aware that Dean is smarter than he comes off as at first. Dean only proves it during the dinner when he gets in a heated debate with Sam and Balthazar about foreign politics – and Castiel isn't even sure how they got on that topic. It has something to do with how they were discussing the state of the national newspapers, but Castiel missed the transition while he was in the bathroom.

Dessert stops that discussion. They're only allowed to have the pies once all the dishes from dinner are cleaned and put away and the leftovers are boxed up in the fridge. Castiel prepares everyone's plates of pie while the others settle back down at the table with their wine and their more sedate conversation, picking up with their shared knowledge about Balthazar's homeland.

Dean's cuts off mid-sentence when Castiel puts a plate down in front of him. “Apple _and_ pumpkin?” He looks up at him with wide eyes. “I get both at the same time?”

“And you can have all the leftover pie after the rest of us have eaten our fill of dessert.” Castiel tries to keep the blush from his cheeks. He can feel the heat creeping up his neck from the bright, happy smile Dean is giving him. “That's why I made two pies.”

“I knew it. You _do_ love me.” Dean says happily, grinning as he leans over and puts his hand on the back of Castiel’s chair.  

Castiel looks up sharply at his words. For a brief, horrifying moment he's certain that Dean _knows_. The teasing smile and the kiss on his cheek leave him with a slight doubt, but now his stomach – already more full than it has been in months – feels twisted and tight. He can barely eat his own thin slice of pie. At least he has enough of a grip on himself that he cuts off any objection Balthazar has about the kiss with a sharp glare that has his brother shrinking back in his chair and unable to meet his eyes.

He's distracted enough by his worry that Dean might have meant more with his words that Castiel almost misses when the conversation shifts to everyone's plans for tomorrow. Sam wants to finish the dresser and Balthazar wants to use the computer in Castiel's office to do a little research of his own – for potential jobs that he might be able to go do in the next week or so. The only thing Dean wants to do is make sure that Castiel doesn't leave the rectory.

“I'm going to the soup kitchen whether you like it or not.” Castiel sighs, rubbing a hand over his face as he sits back in his chair. “We went over all this yesterday. Do we have to do it again?”

“You almost _died_ this weekend, Cas. The demons are out for your blood because of your connection to us and they used humans to get to you.” Dean shoves his plate away and Castiel knows it’s serious if he's ignoring the last of his pie. “Demons, and probably angels too, are gunning for you if you step off the only place on this damn planet that you're safe. And that's only _mostly_ safe – we can't spell humans outta here too without shutting out your parishioners since you're too damned stubborn to close the Church when your fucking _life_ is on the line.”

“I don't care.” Castiel pushes his chair away from the table sharply to take his dishes to the sink. “This is my job and I'm going to do it. I'm not going to let demons, angels, or psychotic humans scare me from helping people. Besides – did anyone _see_ you save my life?”

Sam joins him at the counter, his dish in hand. “The demons were all gone by the time we started healing you and none of the humans were awake to see it.”

“Then they think I’m dead.” He steps out of the way when Sam almost pushes him aside to take over doing the dishes. Both Dean and Balthazar are glaring at him from the table and Castiel returns it in kind. “If you’re _that_ worried about me, then you should just come with me to the soup kitchen after mass tomorrow afternoon. That way you’ll be able to see if there are any demons around and I won’t have to figure out how to hide the wards.”

Balthazar’s glare lessens to something almost contemplative. It’s a small victory, but Dean’s frown doesn’t change. At least it’s not directed at Castiel anymore, his eyes are fixed on the wall as he leans back in his chair with his arms crossed.

“I think that’s a good idea.” Sam says softly, ignoring the sharp look Dean immediately turns on him. “Like Cas said, Thanksgiving is a time for family and friends. We’ll still be together and if we really want, we can easily put up wards on the soup kitchen to keep out demons and other angels. Don’t look at me like that, Dean. I’m not on anyone’s side here. Cas just has a point that I agree with.”

Dean makes a huffing noise and disappears without another word.

“Does he know how ridiculously dramatic he is?” Balthazar asks with a smirk, gesturing at the empty chair. His smirk falls when Castiel turns around to start putting the pies away. “Oh, come on. Cassie, why are you so upset that we _care_ about you?”

“Don’t bother trying that route with me.” He snaps, shoving the pies into the fridge. “You’re not going to be able to guilt me or emotionally blackmail me into staying here tomorrow. I knew the dangers and I still chose the paths I did that took me here. If anything, this weekend was a learning experience. Now we know that there are humans in on the demons’ plans too. Speaking of – how long are we going to have to wait before you tell us who Azazel is?”

Sam sighs and puts the last dish in the drying rack. He gestures back at the table and Castiel sits down again. It takes a while before Sam starts speaking and he chooses to stay standing by the counter.

“We’re trying to learn more about what he’s up to, but all Dean and I know is _who_ he is – one of the angels that fell with Lucifer. He’s basically been running Hell since Michael put Lucifer in the cage. Demons call him a tyrant and he’s stronger than a white-eyes. Hallowed ground, salt lines, holy water – not of it works on him. And he’s got a few demonic children he’s spawned in his time – you’ve met one of them, actually.”

“Who?” Balthazar asks.

“She goes by the name of the person she’s possessing – ‘Meg’.”

Castiel’s nails dig into his palms at the name, fists clenched in his lap. A metallic taste fills his mouth at the dark surge of _hate_ in his chest. He doesn’t say anything, but he and Balthazar share a knowing look. His brother might not hate her as much as Castiel does, but Balthazar knows what she did and he’s behind Castiel entirely with the vendetta he has against her.

“Be happy she doesn’t share the powers of her father and hope that you never meet him.”

“Can we tell him apart from regular demons like we can with Alistair and Lilith?” Castiel asks, pulling his thoughts away from Meg.

“Yellow eyes. He’ll have yellow-eyes.”

Sam explains to them more about Azazel, expanding upon his history as well as Lilith and Alistair’s. Dean still hasn’t returned by the time he’s done and Castiel is forcing himself not to worry or text Dean to find out when he’s coming back. He’ll return when he’s ready and Castiel can only hope that he won’t be over protective or maintain the silly notion that he’s weak again.

If anything, that’s what Castiel fears the most after what happened this weekend. He’s already noticed that he didn’t turn his back on anyone during mass, and Castiel hopes that it’s caution over paranoia. He doesn’t want to be affected by what happened this weekend. A literally miraculous recovery should, if he’s lucky, be enough to keep him from changing his habits and how he handles himself around strangers now. No matter how stubborn he is, there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach that is making him think otherwise.

That feeling follows Castiel to bed and keeps him awake most of the night. Even finding Dean back at the breakfast table with coffee ready for him doesn’t chase it away – though it does alleviate it slightly. Having Dean around is a good distraction from his worries. It takes most of his concentration to keep himself from thinking things like whether or not Dean’s mouth would taste like the last thing he ate, or like the metallic tang air has during a thunderstorm. It’s frustratingly difficult to stop his thoughts from focusing on Dean whenever he’s in the room and sometimes even when he’s not.

Throughout the day, right up until Castiel is pulling on his jacket before they leave for the soup kitchen, Dean is quiet and distant. He barely speaks to anyone, choosing to stay in the bedroom and spread out over the reading chair with his latest book. Castiel has noticed that he’s really taken to westerns lately and again he contemplates buying a TV – even if it’s just so he can rent movies that Dean and Sam would want to watch. Sam spent the day playing around with Balthazar’s laptop while Balthazar bothered Castiel in the Church office, distracting him from the work he’d been trying to get ahead in.

Little by little, over the course of the evening at the soup kitchen, Dean opens up again. Castiel had put him on dish duty, collecting the dishes from all the tables and taking them to the kitchen to soak and wash with the volunteers. It seemed a fitting task for his sour disposition. By the end of the night, his smile has returned after making conversation with the other volunteers. Castiel had even heard him laughing at some points.

Sam and Balthazar helped to hand out food – after Sam had stealthily made sure that the entire place was well warded. He burned symbols into the walls under the tacky wallpaper – much like he did to the rectory before. Castiel did a little bit of everything – cooking in the kitchen, cleaning, and handing out the food. Usually he would have gone out and walked among the tables, talking with everyone just to see how they’re doing – but every time he went to the doors with the intent, a trembling nervousness pulled tight in his chest and he always managed to find something else that needed to be done to keep from doing it.

Even around the volunteers he wasn’t completely comfortable and by the time they drive away, Castiel isn’t sure if he had Dean working mostly in the kitchen where he spent most of his time too because he likes being around Dean or because he wanted someone he trusted there to watch his back when he couldn’t. One of them would have likely made the excuse to be in the same room as him anyways just to keep an eye on him.

“So you two spot any demons during all that?” Balthazar ask, twisting around in the front seat to look back at Sam and Dean.

“Nope.”

“Not a one.” Dean leans forward into the space between the two front seats and Castiel glances at him quickly, taking in the teasing grin. “And I kept my senses as open as possible in case anyone had any bad intentions toward us. Aside from a few extremely dirty thoughts, no one wanted to do anything to Cas.”

Castiel can feel his ears burn. His hands go tight around the steering wheel when Balthazar shoves Dean back. “And I bet half of those thoughts were yours. Keep all your body parts in the backseat, horn dog.”

“I didn’t say that.” Dean sits back, but the smirk Castiel sees in the rearview mirror says otherwise and he tries to will the blush from creeping into his cheeks.

He clears his throat, hoping to distract Balthazar from getting into full swing with any kind of rant at Dean for his comment. “Thank you for your help tonight everyone. I know you only did it to watch over me, but your help was still appreciated.”

There are murmured answers in response and the rest of the car ride goes smoothly, although Castiel catches Balthazar turning around to glare at Dean a few times. Balthazar never says anything when he notices that he's been caught. Castiel is not looking forward to the bickering that will likely start the moment they get back to the rectory. As much as he likes having a full house, the fact that Dean and Balthazar can never seem to get along is starting to grate on his nerves. More than once he's caught himself wondering when one or all of them are going to leave again.

Even shutting his bedroom door doesn't block out the 'don't touch my brother' rant that Balthazar sets into the moment Castiel steps out of the room. He hadn't been planning to stay in his room, but it seems like that's as good a reason as any and Castiel _is_ tired. Maybe an early night is just what he needs after a busy day. By the time that he tucks in, the voices in the kitchen aren't loud enough for him to hear and Castiel says a prayer of thanks for the small blessing.

It takes him a week before enough is enough. Sam left every other day for an hour or two and would return with more books, but Dean and Balthazar stuck around the rectory the majority of the time. Only once did Dean and Sam leave for almost a whole day to go stop a seal and Balthazar only took trips to town when they started running low on the various alcohols he's taken to stocking the cupboards with. He and Dean fight at least once a day, and it's always either about Dean's inappropriate actions toward Castiel – a topic he personally thinks has been beaten to death – and some of the most inane things.

The first snow fall happens while they're still here and Castiel has heard them fighting about things from how to shovel snow to how to fold the laundry to how Dean's shelf of books should be organized. They've even squabbled over Castiel's virginity. Dean says Balthazar needs to leave it alone – which Castiel agrees with entirely – and Balthazar says that it will be a cold day in hell before he'll let Dean have it. That doesn't even make any sense to Castiel. Even if that's actually something he's thought about – and maybe had one too many cold showers over – he wouldn't do anything with Dean. He has his vows after all. And just because Dean makes several lewd comments a day toward him, that doesn't mean he would actually want that. He's an _angel_ and they're just friends.

Castiel will continue telling himself that until he's convinced himself that it's true. It's the only way that he keeps himself sane whenever he puts on the apron and Dean makes ridiculous excuses to get close enough until he can lean in and kiss him. He's kissed Castiel on the cheek, just below his ear, the back of his neck multiple times, and once on the nose. Castiel only complains about it when Balthazar is in the room, but it still never fails to agitate Balthazar to the point where the blasphemous insults start, and Castiel punishes those with putting him in charge of the hunters’ phone.

It's not even a healthy discussion when Balthazar and Dean set into talking about movies and TV shows. It's outright bickering and it seems to get on Sam's nerves as much as it does Castiel's. They both often take to sitting in the shed with a space heater while they read, or Sam will help him with various building projects. After the dresser was finished, Castiel started using the leftover wood to build a birdhouse and Sam seemed eager to learn. It's like he absorbs everything around him and Castiel is more than happy to teach him anything he wants to know.

Of course everyone pitched in around the rectory to do their fair share of chores, including taking the laundry to town, but there's only so much Castiel can take. He likes having Dean and Sam around, but not with Balthazar here too – and vice versa. Balthazar may get along fine with Sam, but he and Dean just don't mix well and even though Castiel loves them all dearly, it only takes a total of seven days for him to reach his breaking point.

It's just after supper and Balthazar is settling into reading the newspaper while Sam boots up the laptop and Dean helps Castiel with the dishes when he asks an innocent question. “What happened with that search you were doing with the amulet?”

Dean looks up sharply from where he's crouched, putting the pots from supper back into the cupboard. “Why you asking?”

“Since you've been here nearly two weeks, I was just wondering if you've decided to give up.”

“Are you telling us to get out, Cas?” He stands up, looking slightly worried as he uses his knee to shut the cupboard door.

“Of course not, Dean.” Castiel smiles at him softly until his expression relaxes to something a little less distressed. “You know that you're welcome here any time and I enjoy your company. But I was under the impression that your search was as important as stopping the seals and I'm just concerned that you're ignoring your duties to watch over me – appreciated, but unnecessary, I might add. Everything has been quiet around here since then.”

“Everything was quiet before you got stabbed too.” Balthazar points out from behind his newspaper.

He shoots a dirty look at him, drying his hands on his sweat pants before grabbing a few stapled papers from the top of the fridge. Balthazar makes an unhappy noise when Castiel pulls the newspaper down and holds the packet inches from his nose.

“I love you, big brother, and you're welcome here just as much as Dean and Sam are – but _here_ are some people who need your help more than I do.”

“You _are_ trying to kick us out.” Dean sounds wounded and even Sam looks up from the laptop with an expression akin to a kicked puppy. Castiel has learned, in the time that he's known Sam, that he is very good at that look.

He makes a frustrated noise and looks toward the ceiling before he turns around to face Dean. “No, I'm not kicking you out. I'm simply trying to remind you that there are more important things that require your attention than I do.”

“I think we're the ones who get to decide what we find to be the most important.” Sam says quietly, not looking away when Castiel looks back at him. “You're important to us, Cas.”

“I'm not more important than the entire world.” He insists, gesturing vaguely toward the window. “There are people out there who need a hunter's help and Balthazar is one of the best. There are seals being broken that your contacts might not know -”

Dean cuts him off. “They're tuned into angel radio. The angels they're listening in on know all the seals and they're telling us the moment they're mentioned.”

“Well what about your search? That's important, isn't it?”

“The one we're looking for could stop the apocalypse.” Sam says and Dean immediately glares at him. He rolls his eyes and shrugs. “I was just making a point that it's pretty damn important.”

“ _That_ is definitely more important than me, Dean.” Castiel steps between him and Sam to get his attention focused back on him. “I don't want to kick you out and I've enjoyed having you around, but please don't be ignoring world saving tasks because you're worried about me. You need to get your priorities straight.”

Dean  opens his mouth like he's going to object but stops. He looks at Castiel steadily for a few moments before he sighs and his shoulders slump slightly as he turns back to the dishes. “Fine. We'll leave tomorrow morning.”

“I'm sorry, Dean.” Castiel steps up next to him, hesitating only a moment before he puts his hand on his shoulder. “I'm not trying to hurt your feelings. But –”

“It's fine, Cas. I get it. There's important shit to be done.” Dean glances at him with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, pausing momentarily while he pulls the cutlery out of the drying cups on the rack. “You're not letting what happened slow you down from what you need to do and we should do the same. There's stuff you said that I don't agree with, but your point's been made.”

He frowns and tilts his head, trying to find the answer in the half of Dean's expression he can see when he looks back down. “What do you disagree with?”

His answer is a shrug that knocks his hand from Dean's shoulder and it marks the end of the topic. Castiel returns to putting things away, but he glances at Dean repeatedly throughout it. He's not looking at Castiel and he barely says more than a few words between then and bed time. While Balthazar is here, Castiel has been more or less forced into actually going to bed every night. Whether he actually sleeps is an entirely different matter.  He has managed to sleep almost every night, but some of them are only half nights that make him wish he'd just stayed up and read instead. But Balthazar enlisted the angels in his campaign to make Castiel sleep and eat like a normal human being and it's about the only thing that they all agree on.

This night is spent tossing and turning. He can't stop thinking about what part of his argument that Dean could have disagreed with. It was sound, sensible reasoning. Obviously he knows that they care for him and that makes him important to them, but the safety of the world should outweigh that completely. And who are they searching for that could possibly have enough power to stop angels _and_ demons from bringing the apocalypse? The only one that Castiel can think of is God, but why would they need to look for Him? Isn't He in heaven?

Castiel gets up earlier than his alarm. Dean and Sam are at the table, their chairs pulled close together with the laptop in front of them. It's not until he shuffles over and stands behind them with his towel and change of clothes clutched to his chest, that he sees that they're watching a movie and the sound is low enough that even standing this close he can barely hear it.

“You're up early and you're not going straight for the coffee.” Sam looks over his shoulder, hitting the space-bar to pause the movie. “You didn't sleep, did you?”

“I tried, and that's what matters.” Castiel squints at the screen and leans forward, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder to support himself – a completely unnecessary gesture, but sometimes he can't help himself. “What are you watching?”

“Star Trek.” Dean answers, tilting his head back to look up at Castiel. “I like it.”

“Dean's a geek.” Sam murmurs, grinning at the glare he gets.

“Yeah, well you're a nerd bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“How did you get that on Balthazar's laptop?” Castiel asks, stepping away before they start throwing punches or something equally violent. “I'm fairly certain all he has on there is porn.”

“We already went through all those files.” Dean shrugs and reaches for the keyboard again. “And it's not technically on his laptop. We're – what's it called, Sam?”

“Streaming. We're streaming it from the internet.”

Castiel stops walking away and glances over his shoulder. “But I don't have wifi.”

“Perk of the halo crowd.” Dean tilts his chair back to grin and waggle his eyebrows at him. “How do you think we get cell service while we're walking through the middle of the desert or sitting at the peak of Mt. Everest? Go take your shower, Cas. I'll get the coffee started.”

He makes a little noise that sounds like 'huh' while they go back to watching the show. He's never really thought about all the places that they could go with their wings, and he always kind of assumed that they were walking through civilized places, at least. It's something that he thinks about the entire time that he's in the shower and it's the first hot shower he's had in days.

True to his words, Dean has a cup of coffee ready for him when he's done. Balthazar doesn't come up from the basement until breakfast is on the table and they discuss all the places that the angels have been. Even Balthazar is interested in hearing about where they can go to that humans can't get to easily. The next place they're going to try is the salt flats called 'Heaven on Earth'.

Its name reminds Castiel of everything he'd been thinking during the night and he twists his coffee cup in his hands a few times before he clears his throat and cuts straight to his point. “Are you two looking for God?”

The silence that follows his question is deafening and both Sam and Dean go unnaturally still. They look at him in sync, the same expression of surprise etched into both their faces. It's incredibly eerie. For bodies that aren't theirs, they are surprisingly at home in them. Even Balthazar looks surprised by the question, mouth slightly open and coffee cup paused halfway to his lips.

“Would you like to know how I reached that conclusion?” Castiel asks, tilting his head and glancing between them.

“This is _your_ fault.” Dean hisses, turning to glare at Sam. “If you hadn't mentioned the apocalypse thing, he wouldn't have figured it out.”

“Well, it's about damn time he knows. I think a _priest_ of all people should know that God is a giant dick and ran off, leaving the angels in charge of Heaven.” Sam snaps, sitting back heavily in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

Balthazar puts his coffee cup down slowly. “Please tell me you're joking.”

As disturbing as the news is, Castiel has had the entire night to get used to the idea. Even worse is that it didn't take very long to adjust to it. He should have asked why God wasn't stopping the angels the moment that he'd found out that they were trying to bring around the apocalypse. The only troubling thing is that the all-knowing Lord hasn't come back to stop them on His own and Sam and Dean have to resort to searching for Him.

“How does the amulet play into the search?” He asks, gesturing at the golden face hanging from the cord around Dean's neck. “You said you needed it to find the one you're looking for.”

“It glows hot in God's presence.” Sam answers when all Dean does is reach up to wrap his hand around the small pendant. “We've been going all over the world trying to see if it'll light up, but it never does. I'm starting to think that we're never going to find Him.”

“Shut _up_ , Sam.” Dean snaps, his hand trembles around the amulet before he drops his hand back to the table, fingers curling into fists. “We'll find Him. We _have_ to find Him.” He sounds desperate and Castiel has to hold his mug tighter or risk reaching out to take his hand in comfort.

“We've been looking for months and we've come up with _squat_.” Sam throws his hands in the air, standing up quick enough to send his chair skittering back. “Don't you think if He wanted to be found, we'd have found Him? How do we know that He's not running from us? He knows _everything_ , Dean. It's well within His power to fuck off before we even get –”

Dean's chair actually falls over when he stands up and he grabs Sam's arm hard enough that Castiel is fairly certain it would be hurting a regular person. “We're leaving.”

They don't even say 'goodbye', disappearing in a rush of invisible wings and a breeze that blows the loose napkins from the table. Castiel stares at the spot they had been standing in for a few moments before Balthazar makes a small, unhappy noise.

“What are you so upset about?” He asks, taking a sip from his coffee. “You haven't believed in God since we were children.”

“I was kind of forced into believing in Him when actual _angels_ dropped into your lap.” Balthazar runs a shaky hand through his hair and he’s ashen faced when he looks at Castiel. “We're fucked, aren't we? Even God has given up on us.”

“No, we're not.” Surprisingly, Castiel finds he actual believes this. Whether his faith is in God or in Sam and Dean, he's not sure, but one thing is for certain – they _are_ going to stop the apocalypse. Either that or he's going to die trying. As long as he helps, as long as they keep fighting, he's not going to believe that they've already lost.

“Finish your coffee and come with me to mass this morning.” He reaches out and pats Balthazar's arm as he stands. “Maybe that will help center you.”

“Don't even joke, Cassie.” Balthazar huffs, pulling his arm away and snatching up his coffee. “I've thought this whole thing hopeless from the first bloody moment. It's just a little off putting to find out that God is as big of a dick as I've always thought he is.”

He can say what he will, but Castiel can see how much it's unsettled him. After another pat on the shoulder, Castiel leaves him to go prepare for mass. Afterward, he’s surprised by how quiet the rectory is when it's just the both of them. They're so comfortable around one another that talking isn't even necessary for the majority of the time. It's relaxing for Castiel after the hectic week and half of having so many people around. But by the end of the day, he's already missing having Dean and Sam around.

Castiel sits cross-legged on his bed, staring at his phone while listening to the sound of the water running in the pipes during Balthazar's shower. He knows that it's not too soon to text Dean, but at the same time he's not sure if Dean even wants him to. There hasn't been anything from either of them all day and that's pretty unusual. It might be because they were here for so long that neither of them finds it necessary to talk to him so soon, but it might also be that Dean is avoiding him again like he did after the shopping trip.

When he hears the water shut off, Castiel gathers his courage and sends two texts.

                _Goodnight, Dean._

_Goodnight, Sam._

He hasn't even put his phone down before he gets responses.

                _Sleep well!_

_i left my fav hoodie on the dresser can i come get it_

Castiel blinks at the message from Dean and glances at the dresser. Sure enough, there is a zip-up sweater folded haphazardly on top of it. He looks down at his open nightshirt, then up at the bedroom door, equally open. He barely stops to think about anything as he types out a 'yes' and crosses the room to shut the door, pausing to shout down the short hall that he's going to bed. Balthazar's muffled reply comes through the wall and it sounds suspiciously like 'get some fucking sleep'.

He sends the message while he's doing his shirt up, dropping the phone the moment he hits send. His fingers fumble on the buttons and Castiel can’t for the life of him understand why he feels nervous. He’s only half done up his shirt before the rustling sound of wings fills the room.

“Aw, Cas. You don't have to dress up for me, y'know.”

“Keep your voice down. Balthazar is in the bathroom.” Castiel hushes him, not looking up until all the buttons are done. He'd considered leaving a few of them undone, but squashed that thought immediately. It would be a pointless gesture since he’s not trying to entice Dean in any way.

“Are we being sneaky?” Dean's grin is more than a little lascivious and in one step he's well within Castiel's personal space, voice dropped to a whisper that is far too husky for Castiel's liking – which means he likes it much more than he has any right to. “I love being sneaky.”

“No, we're not.” Castiel looks away, glancing at the door instead of doing any of a number of things slipping through his mind. He could step away and put space between them, or he could put a hand on Dean's chest and push him back – although Dean never moves if he doesn't want to – or Castiel could lean into him and give him a goodnight kiss or –

“Are you blushing, Cas?” Dean's fingers ghost along his jaw and Castiel wants to lean into the touch.

“ _No_.” He hisses and shoves at Dean's chest reflexively, satisfied when he does stagger back a few steps. This was a terrible idea. He should have left the door open. Why would he want Dean's visit to be a secret? There's no logical reason for it, or for why his heart feels like it's going too fast. “Get your sweater and go so I can get to sleep.”

Dean reaches back and grabs the hoodie without looking. His grin hasn't slipped and it's like this morning never happened. Castiel can’t help but wonder if Dean is acting like this to distract from the note he left on. “Since I’m here, can I have a kiss goodnight?”

“I've never kissed you goodnight before. Why would I start now?” He turns around and pulls the covers on his bed back sharply. This was a terrible decision. He should have told Dean to come get the sweater in the morning or he should have just left the stupid door open.

“You gotta start somewhere, right?” Dean's voice is still low and much closer than it should be.

The heat Castiel can remember from the night that he got stabbed is too close behind him and if he turns around, he knows that Dean will be _right there_. He pretends to be busy with fluffing his pillow instead. “I'm not kissing you goodnight.”

“What if _I_ kiss _you_?”

“No, Dean.”

“Why not?”

“I made my vows and I'm going to stick to them, thank you.” He picks up the alarm clock to set it, just to keep his hands busy so he doesn’t have to turn around. “You have your sweater, you can go now.”

“Is that all that's holding you back?” Dean asks and his voice is in his ear, his heat all down his back like he’s bare inches away and Castiel’s next breath stutters in his chest. “If you didn't have your vows, would you let me kiss you properly, Cas?”

Castiel closes his eyes and his grip on the clock is hard enough that his fingers are starting to hurt. It's getting difficult to breathe and there's something hot searing through his veins in a slow burn. He should have been a better excuse than his vows. They really are the only thing holding him back and now Dean knows that. He swallows compulsively and turns his head away from Dean's breath on his ear. This got out of hand impossibly fast and he's not sure if he's going to be able to get it back under control before he does something he might regret.

“Please go, Dean.” He whispers, relieved that the words don’t tremble like he thought they would.

For a moment, Castiel thinks he feels a hand against his side. It's a phantom touch, like fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt. Dean doesn't say anything for longer than Castiel would have expected from him and when he turns around, he's alone in the room. It's the first time that Dean has left without a sound. Castiel sinks down onto the edge of the bed, his knees suddenly feeling too weak to hold him up much longer. He'd nearly given in. If Dean had pressed a little more, if he'd touched him in any way, Castiel is almost certain that his resolve would have crumbled.

When his phone beeps, he nearly drops the clock still in his hands. They shake when he exchanges it on the side table for his phone, flipping it open to read the message he just received.

                _im sorry ( & thats about this morning 2)_

Another message arrives before Castiel is done reading the first.

                _sweet dreams cas_

He closes the phone and releases a shaky breath. Castiel leans forward with hands clasped together around the phone and his elbows on his knees. His forehead presses against his thumbs and he prays for the strength to fight the feelings he has. He prays for guidance, for the will to continue resisting the temptations and desires and _everything_ about Dean. He prays for God to show himself to Dean and Sam so their long search can end, so the apocalypse can be stopped and they won't have to worry anymore.

Castiel prays until he runs out of things to pray for. He prays until his hands don't shake when he opens his phone and re-sends his goodnight to Dean. Another message comes in when he's feeling his way back to the bed after turning off the light.

                _are you mad at me_

He takes a while to compose his message, deleting and rewriting it more than a few times before he’s satisfied enough with it to hit send.

                _Don't do that again and I won't be. Use punctuation, Dean. Even Balthazar uses punctuation._

_goodnight, cas._

Even with how tired he is, it still takes a while for him to fall asleep. Castiel stares at the phone on the bedside table, highlighted by the red numbers of his clock. The numbers change over and over again while he thinks about the last time that he and Dean were alone in his room, standing together that close with the door shut. It's the only time that he's ever hugged Dean back.

If Dean had asked him for a hug goodnight, he thinks he would have given him that without hesitation. A hug isn't like a kiss. Friends and brothers hug all the time. They don't _kiss_. And Dean is his _friend_. He's never kissed any of his friends before and he's not going to start with Dean. He's _not_. And they're definitely not the kind of friends who do. Castiel isn't sure he'd be able to stand being that kind of friend – he wants more from Dean than just his body.

He has to focus on counting sheep to get himself to stop thinking about Dean long enough to fall asleep.

Balthazar sticks around for another few days, running all the errands for Castiel that he doesn't want him leaving the rectory to do. He does a grocery run on one day and laundry on another. Castiel appreciates the help. It leaves him plenty of time to do the end of the year paperwork, start organizing the Christmas fundraiser and make plans for all the events that he'll be holding. He puts a note on the fridge to remind himself to tell Dean and Sam about all of that. He'd like it if they were able to be there and he doesn't doubt that since he'll be leaving the Church, they're going to want to be on the lookout for demons. As much as he doesn't like how protective they can get, Castiel wants them to come – if only because they're his friends and he could use the extra pairs of hands.

It's dusk on Saturday when Balthazar walks into Castiel's bedroom quickly, interrupting him from reorganizing his closet. He doesn't say a word as he climbs up on the reading chair, reaching behind it to close the blinds over both the windows that frame the corner. Castiel knows something is wrong when Balthazar tosses him his phone from the bedside table and drops to his knees, reaching under the bed to pull out the cases he keeps his weapons and ammo in.

“Call your angels, Cassie. There's a man on the road and he's been staring at the house for the last fifteen minutes.” Balthazar explains, methodical in his movements as he gets a shot gun out and loads it with rock salt shells.

Castiel squeezes in beside the chair and lifts one of the slats of the blinds to peek through. He's hitting speed dial before he stumbles away from the chair. Dean answers on the second ring. There’s no time for pleasantries and Dean doesn't get the chance to say a greeting, cut off when Castiel hisses Alistair's name as he skids into the kitchen. That's all he needs to say and he tosses the phone on the kitchen table before running down the basement stairs.

“Cas!” Dean shouts from upstairs before Castiel has even reached the bottom.

“He's outside on the road and he's alone!” Castiel calls over his shoulder, grabbing as much ammo from the shelves as he can hold and another shot gun.

Sam and Dean are side by side at the kitchen window, peeking through one of the slats together when he kicks the basement door shut behind him. There's no need to explain to Balthazar who Alistair is and he starts laying the weapons out on the table with the ammo.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Dean grumbles, pulling away from the window. “They're supposed to think you're _dead_ , Cas. You haven't been going to town without us, have you?”

“I haven't left the house since Thanksgiving.” He passes Balthazar a magazine for his glock and shoves a few in the pockets of his jeans for his own gun. “I know as much as you do about this.”

Sam turns away too, his normally calm expression unusually hard. “What are we going to do?”

“Wait him out.” Dean leans a hip against the counter, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “If it wasn't for all those wards in Cas's perimeter, he'd be in here already. Hallowed ground isn't even a speed bump to white-eyes like him.”

“I can't have a white-eyes hanging around outside my Church, Dean.”

“You're not going out to deal with him, Cas. And neither are you, dickhead. Cas would cry if you died and I don't want to see him cry again.” Dean glances once at Balthazar before looking at Castiel again. “For all we know, Alistair thinks that you're dead. Let's wait and see what he's up to before we do anything.”

“I don't think we have long to wait.” Sam hisses, leaning over the sink to look out the window again. “Shut up and listen. He's talking.”

Dean joins him at the window again and Castiel and Balthazar stop moving. They all listen but Castiel can't hear anything. He shares a confused look with Balthazar and they quietly go to his office to listen at the window behind his desk. Even then, all Castiel can hear is a muffled noise but not actual words. It's not the first time that he's been envious of an angel's hearing.

“That son of a _bitch_.” Dean hisses from the kitchen and Castiel join them in the kitchen.

“What did he say?”

Dean’s mouth is a severe line when he turns away from the window again. This is one of the few times that Castiel has seen him hold the wrath of heaven in his eyes. “He's calling us out.”

“Specifically, he asked if we're still hanging around this place since our 'precious human kicked the bucket.'” Sam makes even his air quotes look angry. “He's warning us that if we don't show our faces, he's going to send in human pawns again and burn this place to the ground.”

“Whatever happens, Cas, you stay in here.” Dean grabs his shoulder and shoves him back toward the table. “Let's keep them thinking that you're dead. Sam and I are going out there and this time I'm going to end him.”

Sam gives him a warning look, but Dean is gone between one blink and the next. He follows after him almost immediately. Castiel takes their place at the kitchen window, watching through the slates with the edge of the counter digging into his stomach as they reappear on the opposite side of the fence. He winces when Dean delivers a devastating punch to Alistair's jaw without preamble, knocking him off his feet. Balthazar makes a little 'ooo' sound from the window in the office, watching from there. They're both silent when Dean pulls Alistair to his feet again. Castiel would trade almost anything to have the ability to listen to them from here. He'd really like to know what Dean is saying.

Alistair doesn't do anything until Dean raises his arm, an unfamiliar weapon gripped in his hand. It looks like a silver stake from where Castiel is standing, but it clicks quickly that it's an _angel sword_ and he's left breathless at seeing something new. At the appearance of the sword, demons start popping onto the road in the dozens. Balthazar mutters a curse and runs back to the table.

“Stay there and watch, Cassie. I'll get the rest of this prep done.”

“They told us not to go out there.”

“And you’re really going to listen to them at a time like this? We're not going to do anything unless it looks like your angels can't hold their own.” Balthazar gestures for him to turn back to the window as he starts clipping ammo into two belts. “Tell me what's happening.”

Castiel looks back, squinting to make out what's happening in the fading light of the sun and the glare of the street lights. “The black-eyes are between Dean and Alistair now. Apparently angel swords can kill demons because he's dropping them with that. Sam has his sword too now. I think there's too many for him to keep it to his usual touch smiting.”

He keeps Balthazar up to date until he's handed an ammo belt and he buckles that around his hips, shuffling over to make room so they can both watch. Dean and Sam seem to be doing just fine. The demons still keep appearing, one after another and Castiel's fingers ache where they're wrapped tightly around the shotgun Balthazar handed him. He hates waiting here. He wants to be out there, helping with the demons that are threatening him and his friends.

“Who the hell are they?” Balthazar nudges his shoulder and points. He needs to lean out of the way for Castiel to be able to get close enough to the window to see what he's talking about. There's a new group of people, no more than six, standing in a line that looks eerily like a formation and they're spearheaded by a man with dark skin. They're all wearing suits and it's what they're holding that cinches it for him.

“Angels.” Castiel turns away sharply, ducking into his bedroom for his jacket before putting his boots on at the door. Just because everything is going to hell outside doesn't mean he's going to freeze trying to fight them off.

While Balthazar gets his own jacket and boots, Castiel goes into the basement for one last thing. He grabs a rosary from the shelves and pulls open a door tucked into one corner, half hidden behind junk that topples across the floor when he pulls it open. The heating and water systems are all kept here and Castiel opens the water line. After a quick blessing, he drops the rosary into the pipe and closes it again. This is the first time he's tried this trick and he hopes it works.

Balthazar gives him a weird look when he stops at the shed to grab a hose and takes the time to screw it into place on one of the outside taps. “What are you doing?”

“Take this and point it at the demons.” Castiel shoves the end into his hands. It's all the explanation Balthazar needs and Castiel waits until he's at the fence before he turns the tap.

With the appearance of the angels, it doesn't look like more demons are being brought in, but Castiel doesn't want to take the chances. Sam and Dean won't be able to hold off demons, Alistair, _and_ a group of angels all at the same time. It's his turn to help them and he's going to do it whether it means showing Alistair that he's alive or not.

When the holy water hits them, the demons start screaming. Steam rises from their skin and they scatter from the spray. Castiel joins Balthazar at the fence, his shot gun held at the ready as he starts shouting an exorcism. He knows that demons can't cross the property line and now is as good a time as any to find out if the warding that Sam and Dean put up will actually repel other angels.

“We've got them covered!” Balthazar shouts when Dean drops the closest demon and stops to glance at them. “Deal with the other assholes!”

Sam is already fighting half of the angels and Castiel tries not to watch too much. He hasn't gotten hurt _too_ bad yet, but Castiel can see the tears in his clothes from hits that have gotten a little too close. It's too far to see if there's blood or not. The other three – including the one that Castiel thinks might be the leader, are heading straight for Dean. Now that Castiel and Balthazar are dealing with the demons, Dean is back on his original mission to take down Alistair.

That's well outside the reach of the hose, and Castiel can barely see him through the bodies of the demons and the black smoke that fills the air when the exorcism starts to work. It's the entire reason that Castiel moves around to stand on Balthazar's other side. He wants to keep Dean in sight and from there he can still sort of see Sam if he leans around his brother. His throat is starting to get sore with shouting the exorcism, but Castiel doesn't stop – not even when Balthazar joins in.

Alistair and Dean are grappling by the time the other angels reach him. They had to pick their way through a field of corpses and the other demons kept stumbling into their way while trying to get avoid the holy water. Castiel isn't surprised that the demons are cut down the moment they’re a nuisance. Dean's back is to the angels when they get close to him and the exorcism falters on Castiel's tongue, replaced with a cry of warning.

It feels like he's not loud enough, like he's shouting across a great distance. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears and feel it in his throat as he calls Dean's name again. Everything is going in slow motion and the only good thing about this is that they're too far for Castiel to see everything in detail. He doesn't need to see the way Alistair smiles while he's holding one of Dean's arms – the one holding his sword. He doesn't need to see the look on Dean's face when he half turns and realizes he can't properly defend himself as the lead angel attacks.

Dean falls back a step just before the blow comes down. From Castiel’s vantage point, it's the only thing that keeps the strike from being immediately fatal. At least that's what he thinks at first, until he sees the light seeping under the slash in Dean's shirts and the dark stain that spreads over the fabric – visible even from where he’s standing. The only thing that keeps him from jumping the fence is Balthazar. He has to drop the hose to do it, both arms coming around Castiel's chest to hold him back.

“Cassie, no! It's not –”

He doesn't care. Dean is _hurt._ That's the _real_ angel glowing under the folds of his clothing and Castiel has no idea how deep the wound goes, or how hurt Dean really is. The only thought in his head is getting to Dean and helping him, protecting him from those who want to kill him. Castiel shouts Dean's name again, desperate and horrified as he tries prying Balthazar's arms away. He only stops when Sam appears behind the angels. One of them gets Sam’s sword in their back and Castiel has to close his eyes to the bright burst of light that follows.

When he looks again, one of the other angels has been thrown clear across the road and Sam is in the process of kicking the dark-skinned angel into Alistair. They tumble to the ground and Alistair drags Dean down with him. He must lose his grip and Castiel stops fighting Balthazar's hold when Sam pulls Dean back up, vanishing before he's even on his feet. There's a split second of a panic that drowns out everything else, a worry that pulses painfully in his chest when he thinks that Sam took Dean and ran away where he can't follow. But then Sam is there in front of him and Balthazar is letting him go.

“Take Dean inside.” Sam instructs, pushing Dean towards Castiel. “I'll help him when I'm done out here.”

“Fuck, Sam, could you try being a little more gentle?” Dean groans, barely able to stay standing. He winces and sags against him as Castiel pulls one of his arms over his shoulders and wraps an arm around Dean's waist.

When Balthazar goes to take up his other arm, Sam grabs his shoulder. “No, you stay her. I'm going to need your help.”

Castiel doesn't wait to find out more. Dean hisses in pain and he can barely keep his head up as they stumble toward the rectory together. This is one of the few times that Castiel has ever wished that he put the door to the kitchen on this side instead of facing the back. He doesn't think twice about the other angels, Alistair, or even what Sam and Balthazar are going to do. All he cares about right now is getting Dean out of harm's way and helping him in whatever way that he can.

Dean huffs a small laugh against his shoulder when he fumbles to open the door. “It's kinda funny, y'know? Vaniah almost killed Sam before and now he's gone and done the same to me. Only, y’know what? I think he got it right this time.”

“Don't say that.” Castiel hisses, almost dragging him into the kitchen when Dean's steps falter and his legs give out. “Come on, Dean. Just a little further.”

“Vaniah, he's that black guy out there –” His other arm twitches up, like he's trying to make a gesture. “He's like – he's like a – fuck, what do you call 'em – a cop? Sure. Yeah. He's like a cop. Y'know, I think his vessel actually _is_ a cop? His name starts with a 'V' too, I think. If we look at someone just right, didja know we can see stuff about them?” Dean keeps talking as his words start to slur and Castiel pulls him toward the bedroom. “We can see their pasts and shit. It's pretty cool. Never done it for you. Been tempted a lot, though.”

“In all due respect, Dean, _shut up_.” Castiel hisses, not caring that he's tracking snow into his bedroom. It would have been easier to sit Dean down in a kitchen chair, but laying him on the bed just seems _right_. If Dean really is dying – and Castiel refuses to actually believe that or let it happen – then he should do it somewhere comfortable. The bed is the most comfortable place he could think of.

Dean slumps back against the pillow and groans when Castiel pulls him back up into a sitting position the moment he's got his legs up on the bed. He already tossed his coat aside so it wouldn’t hinder him while taking care of Dean. Castiel starts peeling Dean out of his jacket and shirts, throwing them in the same direction as his coat as each layer comes off. It's difficult without Dean's help.

“Aw, Cas.” Dean mumbles, words muffled as he pulls the last layer – a t-shirt – over his head. He's smirking weakly at him when that shirt hits the floor too. “Shouldn't you buy me dinner first?”

At first Castiel wanted him to stop talking to conserve his strength and because he didn't want to hear him talking about dying. But if this keeps Dean awake, if talking keeps him conscious and he's not focused on the pain that makes him wince whenever he moves, then that's just as good. He'll take whatever he can get.

Slowly, he guides Dean to lay back. “I make you dinner all the time, Dean.”

That gets him a low laugh that turns into a hiss of pain when Castiel carefully starts prodding at the diagonal slash that crosses his chest. “Not what I meant, Cas.”

“What did you mean?” He's answering on automatic now, trying to see how deep the wound goes. There's light glowing along at its bloody center and blood is smeared all over Dean's chest. He had tried to keep it from getting anywhere else on him when he'd taken his shirts off.

Castiel only looks up when Dean doesn't answer. Dean is looking at him and there's nothing glazed or unfocused about that look, but there is something – something _sad_. He doesn't understand it.

“Never mind.” Dean murmurs, closing his eyes as he turns his face away and settles more heavily into the pillow. “Forget it. Doesn't matter.”

Castiel had been crouching over the bed and he sits on the edge now, leaning over Dean and shaking him once by the shoulders. “Dean, open your eyes and look at me. Tell me what you meant.”

“Doesn't matter.” Dean mumbles again.

“Then open your eyes, look at me, and tell me what I can do to _help you_.” He doesn't want Dean to close his eyes. He doesn't want him to get comfortable or sink into the darkness. Castiel remembers it. He remembers how everything seemed pointless and insignificant in the last moments when you think you're going to die, and he needs Dean to stay conscious. There isn't much that he can do for Dean as a human, but he'll do whatever he can and he'll pray.

_Please, God, don't let him die._

Dean doesn’t open his eyes until Castiel moves. He has one knee on the bed, practically kneeling over him, and his right hand is holding Dean’s left shoulder tightly. Castiel cups Dean’s cheek with his other hand. He’s getting too pale and Castiel doesn’t know what to do – how much blood loss can an angel sustain? Do they even need a beating heart to remain in their vessels? Will Sam be able to heal him?

“You saved my life, Dean. Now let me do the same for you. Tell me what you need.”

For a moment, Dean looks up at him helplessly. He looks terrified and it gets lost in a hiss as his expression crumples. The light shining through the wound on his chest grows brighter as his body trembles and Castiel immediately moves his hand from Dean’s face to press down against it, a desperate move to try and hold that light in.

“No, Dean. You are _not_ dying now.” Castiel leans forward again, speaking only when he holds his eyes again. “You healed me, why can’t you heal yourself?”

“Not strong enough for that.” Dean hisses between his teeth, head tilting back on the pillow as another wave of pain wracks his body. “Sammy could do it if he put everything he’s got into it. But the angels –”

“The angels already know where you are. What does it matter if he uses his full powers now?”

He shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut as his left hand wraps around Castiel’s wrist, holding his hand against the wound. “He’s not gonna make it in time.”

Castiel squeezes his shoulder where his hand still rests. “Don’t say that.” A desperate edge is creeping into his voice and he does nothing to stop it. “There has to be something I can do, Dean. Tell me what I can do to help you.”

How did Dean heal him before when he couldn’t use his full powers because of the angels? Dean saved him and if Castiel could just calm down and focus he could remember – _oh_. Castiel grabs Dean’s right hand and presses it to his own chest, his palm against his sternum.

“You’re not strong enough to do it on your own, right? Use me. You can use my soul like a battery and boost your powers.” He knows he’s right when Dean goes still. Panic starts creeping in again when Dean looks at him and there’s light behind his eyes, a brilliant white-blue that’s bleaching away the green.

“No.” Dean breathes the word, so softly Castiel can barely hear it. “No, Cas, no – I can’t – not you –”

“I don’t care if it’s going to hurt.” Castiel leans forward again, until their noses almost brush, so Dean can’t look away. “I’m not going to let you die, Dean. Use my soul. _Use me_.”

A bright flash of light comes through the windows and nearly takes Castiel’s attention away. He resists looking over his shoulder, wondering what could have happened. Was it Sam? Are he and Balthazar okay? Did the angels do something? Even with his eyes locked with Dean’s, Castiel isn’t prepared for Dean to wrap his free arm around his shoulders.

Castiel barely registers the apology Dean murmurs. He’s very distracted by the press of Dean’s mouth against his and the hand in his hair, holding him tightly in place. Dean is kissing him. Dean is _kissing him_. It’s like everything grinds to a stop – his thoughts, his breath, his heart, time. _Everything_. All he can think about, all he can focus on, is the feel of Dean’s lips moving lightly against his own.

He’s not given the chance to sink into it as the soft sound of surprise in the back of his throat is warped and twisted by the sensation that folds out from his solar plexus. It consumes him like fire, taking from him all his senses and leaving nothing but pain as his scream breaks the kiss.


	8. Soul Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How much of his friendship with Dean did he just ruin? Did he just lose one of his closest friends? _This_ is why he never said anything, why he didn't plan on ever mentioning it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Pappcave's Reverse!Verse](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/Papp%27s-reverse%21verse). Papp has written a few things for it already (found at the link above) - part of Castiel's past included. 
> 
> And he was nice enough to do extra art for this fic too! Go give him some love!
> 
>  
> 
> **Updates the 15th and 30th of every month until the story is complete. And no, I'm sorry, I don't know how long it will be. For chapter statuses and information, please[check here.](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hunting+for+faith)**

It hurts worse than when he was stabbed – worse than all the times he’s been clawed and bitten. This is a pain that goes deeper than his skin, beyond muscle and bone. It resonates into the very core of him, reducing everything that he is to nothing more than _pain_. Castiel isn’t even sure if he’s screaming anymore. He can’t see, or hear. He can barely feel Dean’s arm looped over his shoulder, holding him still, or his lips moving against his cheek. It’s a numb sensation, as if he isn’t the one feeling it.

Time becomes meaningless. Castiel doesn’t know when the pain started, when it’s going to end, or if it ever will. It feels like it’s been an eternity, and no more than a second at the same time, when something _warm_ spreads through him. All he knows is that it soothes the pain away where it touches inside him, burning in an entirely different way. It’s warm and wanting, familiar and so full of love – it feels amazing, like liquid light singing through him.

When that feeling starts pulling away, Castiel isn’t sure if he whimpers or not but he doesn’t want it to leave. It’s the sweetest relief he has from the pain and it’s the only thing he wants. Why does it have to go? Why can’t it stay forever? He reaches for that feeling, trying to draw it back and wrap himself in it.

The feeling turns to lightning. It flashes through him in streaks that go past the threshold of pleasure, exceeding even the boundaries of pain. It brings back sound and sight and feeling again long enough for Castiel to hear Dean’s shout of surprise intermingle with the cry still clawing its way out his aching throat. He hears a voice that sounds like Balthazar’s, but it’s drowned out by an all-encompassing ringing. For one brief moment it sounds like a million voices singing the sweetest of songs. He barely catches a glimpse of Dean’s wide-eyed stare and the shadow of his wings, spread out across the bed and walls, before a too bright light swallows everything.

When Castiel opens his eyes again it feels like it’s only a moment later, and yet at the same time it feels like years have passed. There’s a bone-deep ache in his body, pulsing under his skin from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. It doesn’t exactly hurt, but he feels heavy and tired. The only truly sore part of him is his throat, and his right hand feels unusually warm – warmer than the pillow under his cheek.

His pillow is moving in a rhythmic up and down that makes Castiel want to close his eyes and let it lull him back to sleep. It takes another minute for him to realize that his pillow shouldn’t move or be as warm as it is. Lifting his head takes more effort than it should, but he forgets the aches and the tiredness and everything he’s ever known when he realizes that he’s lying next to Dean in his bed and his pillow was Dean's bare chest.

Castiel’s right hand is still firmly clamped around Dean’s left shoulder, his arm laying heavily across him. His left arm is tingling with that pins and needles feeling of the circulation being cut off, and his back is to the rest of the room. Dean looks like he's sleeping. Castiel props himself up on his elbow to get a better look at his chest, searching for any sign of the wound from before.

A deep relief settles through him and Castiel drops his head with a sigh. There's nothing left of it – no scars, no blood. He hopes that Dean is only sleeping because it took so much of his energy to breach Castiel’s soul and heal himself, like how Sam had slept while he was recovering earlier in the year. Castiel struggles to remember what happened, memories skipping through the pain, that warm touch inside, the light and the wings. The _kiss_.

"Cassie?"

The soft question startles him and he twists reflexively to roll over onto his back, aware that he must be close to the edge of the bed. Castiel stops when he starts to pull Dean with him. Instead of looking behind him, he stares at his hand on Dean's shoulder. It's still so warm under his palm – warmer than anywhere else he's touching him. But he's not holding him – not consciously, at least. It's more like his hand is glued to Dean's shoulder and he can't pull it away.

"Don't." Sam says quietly, suddenly leaning over Castiel and grabbing his wrist to keep him from trying to tug his hand away. "Stop fighting it."

He looks up at him, panic starting to press tightly at the base of his throat. "Why is it –?"

"That's something for Dean to explain to you." Sam keeps his voice soft, guiding Castiel to lay like they were before until Dean is flat on the bed again. "Right now, you need to let go."

"I _can't_." Castiel hisses, flexing his fingers and making a face at how he can feel it pulling at Dean's shoulder. "It's not –"

Sam hushes him. "Just calm down and listen to me. Dean is making himself sleep to keep you safe because you're holding onto _him_." He pauses to let that sink in and Castiel briefly loses the ability to breathe when the meaning fully hits him. "That hold is manifesting itself in your hand on his shoulder. I can make a pretty good guess about what happened and you grabbed him without realizing it. Just breathe, center yourself, and let go."

The warmth – the feeling that had chased away the pain – _that_ was Dean? Was that what his grace feels like moving against his soul?

Castiel forces himself to breathe deeply, closing his eyes and focusing away everything else. He's meditated before, on nights when the nightmares come and he decides not to call Balthazar. He clears his mind and without all the questions rattling through his head, he finds that singing heat he wanted to – still wants to – hold on to. The moment he releases it, his hand slips from Dean's shoulder and Dean takes a deep, audible breath.

"You keep surprising me, Cas." Dean mumbles and Castiel hears the words reverberate under his cheek before he pulls away.

He doesn't know how he ended up lying stretched out on the bed against Dean's side, but Castiel sits up now, turning to get his feet on the ground. There's movement behind him and he assumes that Dean is sitting up too. With a relieved sigh, Sam sinks down in the reading chair at the end of the bed and rubs a hand over his face. Balthazar is sitting in one of the kitchen chairs at the side of the bed and he looks like he can't decide if he wants to be angry or concerned.

"Oh good, you're both awake now." He glances between Castiel and Dean, eyes narrowed. "Would someone explain what the hell happened in here?  I could hear Cassie screaming bloody murder from outside and when I got in here, you're both going off like roman candles."

"Cas saved my life, that's what happened." Dean says from his side, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to sit next to him.

A shiver chases across his skin and Castiel forces himself not to think about how Dean _kissed_ him. He shuffles down the bed, hoping it only looks like he's giving Dean more room and not that he doesn't know what to do or say now that they've _kissed_. Castiel isn't even sure if he can look at Dean at the moment. Not when his thoughts come to a screeching halt whenever he dares to remember the feeling of Dean's lips moving against his own.

Castiel leans his elbows on his knees and rubs his hands over his face. "What happened outside?"

"I killed two of my brothers." Sam whispers and something hard twists behind Castiel’s ribs when he looks up and sees how pale Sam is under the hand he has over his eyes. "I taught Balthazar how to make a blood seal to banish angels and I distracted them long enough for him to paint it. I cleared out just before he set it off. The others were thrown into the ether and who knows where they ended up. Alistair was gone when I came back."

"It's a rather handy seal, actually." Balthazar leans back in his chair and turns a smirk to Dean. "Next time you try anything on Cassie, I'll know how to get rid of your ass."

Castiel gives his brother a sour look. "Don't. Start."

There's no need for a further threat and Balthazar looks away, clearing his throat. "Is anyone going to actually tell me what happened in here? Why did you both pass out after the fireworks display?"

"That wasn't supposed to happen. I was expecting Cas to pass out after I basically siphoned energy from his soul to heal myself, but he kinda – you grabbed _back_ , Cas." Dean shrugs and Castiel only sees the movement from the corner of his eye. He still can't look at him directly. "It surprised me, I lost control and there was a power flux that knocked you out. You were still holding onto me and that's never happened before, so I put myself in a trance state to keep my true-form from hurting you."

Balthazar makes a small, angry noise and Castiel doesn’t look away from the angry glare he turns on him. “Your soul, Cassie? You let him fuck around with your _soul_?” He’s not given the chance to answer when Balthazar huffs, making the noise again and gestures at Dean. “So you have that mark now because you buggered up, is that it?”

“What mark?” Castiel says in unison with Dean, looking at him for the first time since they sat up.

Even Sam looks up and mutters a curse when he sees the angry red burn of a hand print on Dean’s shoulder. Without thinking, Castiel lifts his hand and fits it unerringly over the mark. It’s a perfect match and the moment he closes his fingers over it _heat_ blooms up his arm. It feels even better now without the pain to mar the sensation. They jerk back from each other almost immediately, Dean leaning away with a low moan in his throat that causes another shiver along Castiel’s spine.

“Did that hurt?” He asks quietly, looking down at his hand. The last thing he would ever associate that feeling with is pain – even if the first time he ever felt it was in the midst of the worst kind he’s ever felt.

“No.” Dean breathes, reaching up to touch the mark himself, tracing the lines of the fingers and into the dip of the palm. “It just – it caught me off guard.” He takes a deep breath and looks at Castiel with his jaw set. “Do it again.”

Castiel hesitates before he puts his hand over the mark. This time there’s no reaction and Dean relaxes slightly, looking from Castiel to his hand and back again with a grin. “Looks like I can control it.”

“Control what?” Balthazar asks as he leans forward in his chair, glaring at where Castiel is still holding onto Dean’s shoulder. He realizes that he hasn’t let go yet and takes his hand away quickly, turning from him sharply again.

Dean shrugs, reaching for his shirts still left in a pile on the floor. The blood disappears from the clothing moments after he touches it. “Whether or not Cas can feel me through it.”

Balthazar crinkles his nose and huffs unhappily. “Are you saying that the whole time I was waiting for you two to wake up, Cassie was feeling up your angel self?” He turns his glare to Sam. “You knew all about that, didn’t you? First you just _had_ to go and put them in the same bed together and then they were doing _that_.”

Sam rolls his eyes and slumps more in the chair. “I _told_ you, I put Cas on the bed too because it was the most comfortable position for him since he passed out in a heap on top of Dean.”

“And I wasn’t _feeling Dean up_.” Castiel hisses, flexing his fingers into a fist against his thigh. “I had no idea anything unusual had happened until I woke up.”

“Still felt good though.” Dean murmurs and Castiel barely refrains from punching him in the arm. It wouldn’t do either of them any good, but he does join Balthazar in glaring at him. The moment Dean looks at him with a teasing grin it feels like it gets too hard to breathe and he has to look away again.

According to the bedside clock, it’s a little after midnight – which means they’ve been unconscious for a few hours. If Sam and Balthazar have been here the whole time, then what happened outside? Are there still bodies in the street? What’s stopping the angels and Alistair from coming back? There’s too much to do and he needs something – _anything_ – to get his mind off Dean. He’s not prepared to deal with what happened – not yet, maybe not ever. Castiel staggers to his feet and his legs tremble with every step to the door.

“Cassie, where are you going?”

“There are things that need to be done.” It's the best – the only – excuse that he has at the moment.

“We already cleaned up.” Sam interjects, standing and crossing the room quickly to cut him off before he can leave. “You need more rest than you got. Everything Dean did to your soul was more draining on you than you think.”

Castiel tries to push past him, but Sam doesn't move. “I'm fine, Sam. Please let me by.”

“Listen to him, Cas.” Dean's hand is heavy on his shoulder and that sends a whole new train of goosebumps trekking across his skin. He has to fight himself not to pull away from it. “Don't overdo it after that. Who knows what got fucked up when you held on to me like you did. If you gotta be up right now, then go take a shower or a bath or whatever won't exhaust you and go to sleep after.”

“But the angels and demons –”

Dean turns him around and puts a hand on his other shoulder. “We'll take care of it. You rest up, okay?”

There's concern in his eyes and worry lining his face. Castiel can only meet his eyes for a moment before he has to look away, glancing to the side where Balthazar is glaring up at them from his place on the kitchen chair. His throat feels too tight to talk when Dean is touching him and Castiel's hands feel like they're shaking against his thighs. He forces himself to look back at Dean, even if it's just to nod. It wouldn't do him any good to make Dean worry more if he's already concerned about his health.

“Good.” Dean's smile is slow to find its way to his lips. He looks unsure, head tilting slightly. His gaze flickers down to Castiel's mouth once and his stomach flips nervously, his fingers curling into fists. He only relaxes when Dean steps away, his hands falling from Castiel's shoulders.

“We've got to go before they regroup, Dean.”

Dean looks over Castiel's shoulder at Sam and his face hardens into lines of anger. “Right.” He glances back at Castiel, expression softening slightly. “We'll make sure they're too busy chasing us to come after you.” Before Castiel can say anything – not that he knows what to say – Dean looks to Balthazar. “I don't care how okay you are with it, but you stay here. Don't leave Cas alone until we tell you guys that you're in the clear. Got it?”

“As if I'm leaving any time soon after tonight's bullshit.”

“Good.” Dean nods, looking to Castiel once more before he disappears in that rustling rush of noise.

“You're as safe here as you can get.” Sam puts his hand on Castiel's shoulder briefly. “I know you hate having to stay here, but please – for all our sakes, don't do anything that will put yourself in danger.”

Castiel turns to face him and tries forcing a small smile – one that only makes Sam's frown deepen with concern. “We'll be fine. Please take care of yourselves.”

It's like he's scrutinizing Castiel, looking at him hard enough that he briefly wonders if Sam is seeing more than human eyes can. Sam's lips press into a thin line a moment before he disappears too, leaving the room feeling much emptier than it should with Balthazar sitting just behind him. It's not like his bedroom is very big to start with, but without the overpowering – almost oppressive – presence of the angels the room suddenly feels so much larger than he knows it is.

“You look like you're about to pass out.” Balthazar is at his shoulder and Castiel doesn't remember him moving. “I'm going to agree with Dean – get your ass in bed.”

“I want to shower.” Castiel pushes away from him, staggering from the room before Balthazar can stop him. “I'm fine. Just keep an eye outside in case anyone does show up.”

He ducks down the hall and into the bathroom before he can be stopped, locking the door behind him for good measure. Of course Balthazar could probably pick the lock in thirty seconds or less, but Castiel hopes he'll only do that if he hears him fall in the shower – or that he'll at least knock first if he's taking longer than expected. For now he sinks down to sit on the edge of the tub. His legs feel weak, knees shaking. This is what he's felt like every time he's been sick and he's sure that it's more associated to having his soul used like a battery than it is that Dean actually _kissed him_.

Without Dean here, Castiel finds it easier to breathe and actually think about that. He's still finding it hard to grasp that Dean kissed him, and the more he thinks about it the more he realizes that his biggest roadblock is trying to understand _why_ Dean did it. He's been aware of Dean's flirting, and he knows that he's _hoped_ that the flirting done with him is different from what Dean does with other people. He's _hoped_ that every kiss given whenever he puts on the apron isn't just part of a continuous joke because of what's printed on it – and Dean's request for a goodnight kiss before has only built upon that hope. Yet at the same time he wonders if that was only said to lighten the mood after the poor exit he and Sam had made earlier that day.

But he still doesn't know how Dean really feels about him. Castiel knows that Dean cares for him – but does it extend beyond friendship? He doesn't _know_. And at times like now, all Castiel can think about is what Balthazar had told him when they had returned from the trip to Wyoming. Whether they win or lose this war with the demons, there's every chance that if both of them are still alive that Dean will return to heaven. It's his home, it's where angels belong.

Even if he's considered a traitor and angels are hunting him down, it's still a possibility that Dean isn't going to stay. That body isn't his. There's a man, the _real_ Dean, in there too. How long can an angel possess the body of someone who gave themselves over as a vessel? Castiel doesn't even know what Dean's real name is. He knows a persona. How much of the angel he's fallen for is even real?

He feels sick, like he's going to throw up. There's a burning feeling in his belly similar to acid reflux, though he doubts an antacid would help with this. Castiel wraps his arms around his stomach and leans forward, hunching over his lap and trying to breathe. He's not even sure if he liked the kiss – well he _did_ , but he didn't have the chance to properly enjoy it, almost as if Dean had used it simply as a distraction – the puppet to calm the child before the picture can be taken.

“ _Shit_.” Castiel hisses, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Crap, you're swearing. This can't be good.”

Surprised, Castiel reels back so sharply he loses his seating on the edge of the tub. The only thing that saves him from tumbling backwards through the curtain and into it is Dean's hand grabbing the front of his shirt. Castiel holds perfectly still, suspended in an awkward position until Dean actually pulls him to his feet. He has no idea how long Dean has been here – it can't have been long since he definitely wasn't there before Castiel had doubled over. There are questions on his tongue – so many questions –and none of them are moving past his lips. It's like his mouth is sealed, jaw clenched so tight it hurts.

“Sorry.” Dean tries for a lopsided grin as he steps away, but it doesn't look as natural as it usually does. “I'd say that I didn't mean to surprise you like that, but there wasn't really any way to _not_ scare the crap out of you when I'm trying to sneak around your guard dog.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder before shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Castiel swallows thickly and licks his lips before he looks away. “Why aren't you with Sam?”

“We let off a hell of a lot of energy in China and flew off the moment angels showed up. Sam's in Africa right now doing the same thing and he's going to pop to the North Pole to do it again.” Dean shrugs and leans his hip against the sink. “Then he's going to drop in on some known demons and wipe them out. Basically we're causing a mess everywhere else so they don't have the time to pay attention to you.”

He needs to rephrase his question. “Why are you _here_?”

Dean doesn't hesitate with his answer, all sense of good humour falling from his expression as it grows serious. “We need to talk about what happened.”

Castiel turns away sharply, regretting the motion immediately as his head spins. Is he really that affected by what Dean did to his soul, or is it just because Dean is here now? He leans over, bracing himself on the edge of the tub as he pulls the shower curtain out of the way and turns on the tap, pulling the tab that blocks the drain. “You already told me what happened.”

“I didn't tell you everything.”

A chill tingles down his spine and Castiel has to fight himself to keep from turning around, focusing instead on trying to get the water temperature to 'just right'. “Is this about –” His throat feels like it closes up around the rest of the question and he has to force it out, well aware that the words sound strained and almost whispered. “– about how you kissed me?”

“Sorta yes, sorta no. I don't want to have this conversation any more than you do, Cas, but could you at least turn around and look at me while we do this?”

That sick feeling doubles and Castiel bows his head, fighting against it. Why wouldn't Dean want to talk about what he did? Does he regret it? Did he do it without any of the emotions behind it that Castiel wishes he had? His legs feel weak again and Castiel sits on the closed lid of the toilet. Why – _why –_ did he have to feel like this for an angel – for _anyone_? He was happy not being interested in anybody. He was happy living on his own and only having to worry about Balthazar.

Castiel doesn't move when Dean sits on the edge of the tub or when he leans over to turn off the water. He keeps his hands balled into fists in his lap and stares at them while Dean gets comfortable. There are so many questions in his head and none that he wants to ask right now. Part of him wants the answers, another part doesn't. They'll only hurt and hasn't he been hurt enough?

“You won't feel sick in the morning.” Dean murmurs, sliding close enough that his leg is pressed against his, from his knee all the way to his foot. “That's part of what I did to your soul.”

He wants to pull away from that small touch but there's nowhere else to go. Castiel takes a deep breath and tries to center himself, tries to will away that queasy sensation pushing under his ribs. “That's not the first time you and Sam have alluded to doing more to my soul than using it as a battery.”

“Yeah, well, we're both shit at being subtle.” Dean leans his elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them. “He sent me here, y'know? Kept insisting that we _talk_. I mean, I know we _have_ to – but doesn't mean that I _want_ to. At least not right now while you're not out of the danger zone just yet.”

“What did you do.” Castiel doesn't ask it as a question. The sooner this conversation is done with, the sooner he can go back to figuring out what he's going to do. He barely knows what to think or feel, let alone how he's going to react to anything right now.

Dean takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. “It's – I don't know where to start.”

“The beginning is generally a good idea.”

“Gee, thanks.” He sighs, lifting one hand to start fidgeting with the beads of the rosary. “I kissed you because I wanted to. Been wanting to since – since the morning after the night I brought Sam to you half-dead, the one where I learned what a coffee freak you are. You were hot and half dressed and –”

Unsurprisingly, the sinking feeling in his stomach doesn't make him feel any better. Castiel frowns and he can feel his nails digging into his palms. So Dean is only physically attracted to him? He suspected as much, but it's still not something that he wanted to hear. There's so much more that he wants from Dean and it _hurts_ that Dean is only seeing the physical parts of him.

“And the more I got to know you, the more I wanted to kiss you. I mean, I'd already seen your soul before you first met me, when I was trying to talk to you without a vessel – and your soul is fucking gorgeous, Cas.” Dean holds up his hand when Castiel lifts his head to object. “Let me finish. Since I've had a vessel I've never looked at your soul again and seen anything private. Souls are mirrors, Cas. If I can see your soul, I can basically see all your emotions and the few times that I did see it before we met properly – I didn't know the specifics, but I knew you hadn't had the easiest life but you were still so _bright_. Even as a hunter you believe the best in everyone. You trust them and –”

One thing Dean says strikes Castiel hard enough that he can barely breathe. “Souls are mirrors.” He repeats, barely able to even whisper the words. If just _looking_ at his soul could let Dean know his thoughts and feelings, what would _touching_ it tell him?

The look Dean gives him is answer enough and Castiel's heart is beating so hard against his ribs that it _hurts_. “If you're thinking what I think you're thinking – Yeah, Cas. I _know_.”

No, he _can't_ know. He's not supposed to – Castiel was never going to _say –_ It's too hard to breathe. Dean needs to leave. He can't do this right now. He can't do this _ever_. He doesn't want to listen to anything more – whether it's the answer he hopes for or the one he doesn't want to hear.

How can people stand this? Does everyone feel like this when they have feelings for someone else? Why would anyone _want_ this?

Castiel’s legs nearly give out when he stands and he doesn't care. Dean stands too and he ducks around him, nearly tripping backwards over the toilet bowl to get away. He doesn't want to run but he can't have this conversation now – he just _can't_. Balthazar is probably going to check on him any moment now and if he finds out that Dean is here and they're alone in the bathroom together –

Dean catches him at the door, his hand against the wood before Castiel even has the lock undone. “Please don't run, Cas. Let me finish.”

“No.” He chokes out, turning the lock and the handle. “Move.”

“Not until you listen to what I have to say.”

“I don't want to hear it.” He tries pulling at the door, unsurprised that it doesn't even budge. “ _Move_ , Dean. Just – just leave. _Go_.”

There’s a hesitation to Dean’s voice. “Not yet.”

Dean steps in close - too close, a line of heat all down Castiel’s back as he pulls his hands away from the door handle. The touch is surprisingly gentler than Castiel expected and he doesn’t fight it. He watches Dean flick the lock back into place and trembles when he can feel his breath on the back of his neck.

“Cas, just - I need you to listen. Please?”

He sounds small, almost like he’s scared. Castiel closes his eyes and shakes his head. He’s not ready for this - he’s _not_ \- but he doesn’t tell Dean to leave again. Not yet.

Dean's sigh sends tremors through Castiel’s bones as it brushes over his skin and he hunches his shoulders when he feels Dean's forehead press against his neck, just above the collar of his t-shirt. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Cas. I was selfish and I kissed you because I wanted to give you something nice. I knew what was coming and it wasn’t going to be good. Then when I touched your soul and I felt all _that_ , I – Shit, Cas, I thought about leaving my mark on you.”

Castiel’s voice is surprisingly steady though still too hushed for his liking. “What do you mean?”

“When a claim is made on a living soul, it leaves a mark – a brand.” Dean sounds like he's whispering too, the words tracing patterns down Castiel's back. “I wanted to make my claim on your soul, Cas – so no angel, no demon, not even a human would touch you. They’d look at you and know you’re _mine_.” He can feel the shape of the words against the back of his neck as Dean murmurs them into his skin, his arm dropping from the door to wrap around Castiel's waist with his other. “But I couldn’t bring myself to do it – not without your permission.”

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. This is a hug - just a hug. There’s nothing different about this than any of the others that he’s had with Dean. It’s only a hug - one that is too little and too much, making it hard to breathe and every word still sounds like it’s nothing more than a whisper. “If you weren’t going to do it, why bother mentioning it now?”

“Because you grabbed back, Cas. You pulled me back, you held on, and _you_ burned your mark onto me first.” Dean’s lifts Castiel’s right hand, pulling him until they’re standing almost nose to nose as he places his hand over his shoulder and the hand print Castiel can feel under his clothes. “The ‘power flux’ was _you_ not wanting to let go. It was _you_ making a claim on an angel’s grace.”

Something in Castiel’s chest pulls tight, pulsing hard with a terrifying feeling he doesn’t recognize. It’s screaming _MINE_ and he doesn’t know what to think. He claimed Dean? But he’s never coveted anything – any _one_ – before. Did it happen because Castiel wants him? His thoughts keep spinning around, confusing him more with each passing moment until they crash to a stop with one realization – didn’t Dean say that he did something to his soul?

“Dean -” He tries to keep his breathing even but it's so hard when his ribs feel three sizes too small around his lungs. Everything sounds so hushed and quiet that he's not even sure Dean can hear him. His eyes are still closed, and he can feel Dean's breath on his lips. He's so _close_. “Did you mark my soul too?”

“Yeah, Cas, I did.”

Castiel fists his other hand in the material of Dean's shirt over his chest. Holding on to Dean is the only way to keep his hands from shaking and he's not sure if he's standing on his own or if it's Dean's hands on his waist that are keeping him up. How is he supposed to process this? He _claimed_ an _angel_ – something Castiel wasn't even aware was possible – and now his soul is bearing the same kind of mark. Dean claimed him on a level Castiel can barely comprehend and even with his eyes closed it feels like the world is spinning too fast around him.

“Will you at least look at me, Cas?” Dean asks and his voice is small again.

He shakes his head and pushes at Dean's chest, mildly surprised when Dean takes a step back though he doesn't let Castiel go. It's too hard to breathe, too hard to think, and he's so _tired_. Too much happened in too little time and he can't do this – not right now. Not when he's not sure if he can stand on his own and even the thought of a warm bath isn't enough to keep him from wanting to crawl into his bed and sleep until everything is back to normal again.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

“Then why won't you look at me?” Dean's fingers brush his jaw and Castiel almost leans into the touch and the thumb stroking over his cheek. “C'mon, Cas. After what I just said, you gotta be thinking something. Talk to me.”

What is he supposed to say? Castiel isn't equipped for this. There's no previous experience to draw on and he barely knows how to handle his own emotions, let alone taking Dean's into account too. All of Balthazar's stories over the years were about sex. Anything he's had can't really be considered a relationship – more like a fling, or a one night stand. No one has told Castiel what to do in situations like this, though he doubts there's ever been one quite like this.

He shakes his head again, tilting it away from Dean's touch as he takes a deep breath to answer. “I didn't do it on purpose.” It's the truth. Castiel had no idea that not wanting that deliriously good feeling to leave him in pain again was going to result in this.

“I know.” Dean murmurs and his hand stays resting against the side of Castiel's neck. “But angels are all about consent, Cas. I couldn't have marked you if you didn't want it and vice versa. I _let_ you claim me. I could have stopped it and I didn't because I wanted it – want _you_.”

“Why?” The question leaves his lips before he's aware he's asking it.

There's a huff of breath that sounds a little more frustrated than Castiel is expecting and he's almost tempted to open his eyes. “You really need all of this explained?”

“Yes.” It's coming easier now and Castiel finally looks at him, hesitating when he sees just how _unsure_ Dean is. “I need to know _why_ you wanted – want – that. Why did you let it happen?”

Dean's forehead furrows in a confused frown. “You _know_ why. Didn't you feel it when you touched my grace? Do you remember what it felt like?”

Of course he does. Castiel will never forget what it was like. It was like touching the sun and it had filled him with light and song, heat and – His thoughts stutter to a stop when he remembers how it had felt _wanting_ – hot enough it should have burned him and so full of love. Is that what Dean feels for him? Or is that just what the grace of all angels are like? Aren't angels meant to love mankind? He knows they're supposed to be warriors, but aren't they supposed to be more too? He's never felt an angel's grace before. How is he supposed to know that what he felt from Dean's grace isn't what all angels feel?

“Do you want me to spell it out for you, Cas?” Dean tilts his head. “I'm not so great with feelings – I'm not _Sam –_ but I could t-”

“I don't even know you.” Castiel whispers, cutting him off and hating just how surprised – _hurt –_ Dean looks by it. “I only know what you've shown me. You're wearing a human mask, Dean – that's not even your real name. It's the name of your vessel and he's still in there.” He's starting to babble, but he can't stop. Excuses. So many excuses. “You're – I don't know anything about what you were like in heaven. I know how you've developed here – your likes and dislikes and the things you've found that interest you, but – Everything from before I met you? There are so many question marks, so many secrets. I can't –”

Dean's hand tightens minutely against his neck before he pulls away completely. Castiel's hands drop to his sides and he's a little surprised that he's managing to stay standing all on his own. Even with a foot of space between them it's still hard to breathe and the hardened expression on Dean's face isn't helping.

“You know I want you and I know you want me. Why are you being so –” Dean gestures at him sharply, as if that will finish his question for him. “Is it because I'm not human?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why does it _matter_?” He steps in again, quickly enough that Castiel draws back on reflex and comes to an abrupt halt against the door. His hands grip the front of Dean's shirt again as his arms push around Castiel's waist and he rests his forehead against his shoulder. “Why does my past matter? Who I was then isn't who I am now. I've basically told you everything else and the only secrets I have left are the ones that I have to keep. They protect you and other people.”

Castiel wants to hug him back. He wants to wrap his arms around Dean's shoulders and cradle him against his chest. It's a pulsing need under his skin, itching like a bug bite when he refuses it. There's more he wants to know about Dean, so much more – _everything_. He wants to be selfish, to be greedy and learn it all. He knows that it doesn't matter who Dean used to be. Watching Dean grow into his own person and discover all the things that make him happy is part of the reason Castiel fell for him.

He realizes – he _knows_ – that everything else is just excuses. He doesn't _need_ to know about Dean's past – but he does need to know, definitively, how Dean feels about him. He needs proof. If he's going to break his vows to the Church and to God, then he needs to know that much at least. Though he's starting to doubt that those vows matter much to an omnipotent being who doesn't even care enough to come back when the end of all things is brewing.

“I can't, Dean.” The words feel too heavy on his tongue, like they don't want to be spoken – and Castiel almost doesn't want to say them. This might push Dean away completely and he doesn't want that. He doesn't want to lose Dean entirely, he just can't do any of this right now. “I promised myself to God and the Church. I made my vows and I can't break them just because you _want_ me.” Castiel swallows around the tightness in his throat and closes his eyes again. He doesn't want to see Dean's reaction to what he's going to say next. “Lust is a sin.”

The change in Dean is immediate. Every line of him goes rigid, his grip around Castiel's waist turning from gentle to hard, and the air starts to hurt, tingling over his skin as the scent of a storm fills his senses. He's angry and Castiel can just imagine that his wings are spreading behind him. When Dean pulls away again, Castiel doesn't stop him. He stays leaning back against the door, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides as he waits for some kind of answer.

There is none. Castiel draws a sharp breath of surprise when that pressure in the air disappears. It's like a weight that had been pressing in on him from all sides and it's just _gone_. If he wasn't already propped up by the door, he probably would have staggered back into it. Breathing feels easier, but it hurts now. Every breath has to struggle past a lump in his throat.

How much of his friendship with Dean did he just ruin? Did he just lose one of his closest friends? _This_ is why he never said anything, why he didn't plan on ever mentioning it.

The bang against the door is unexpected. It makes the wood shake and Castiel winces as the back of his head bounces against it. “Cassie! Open this fucking door before I find your chainsaw and open it myself!” He steps away as Balthazar starts banging again. “If you're dead in there, I'm going to kill Dean first and then I'm going to kill _you_.”

Castiel doesn't bother looking at himself in the mirror first and he doesn't stop to wonder why he didn't hear Balthazar before. There's every chance that Dean was masking them somehow – keeping out distractions so they could have the talk that they needed, even if it didn't as expected. He opens the door and Balthazar falls silent in the middle of his next threat. That only lasts for a moment.

“What the hell happened in there? I've been knocking for five minutes and I picked the lock a half dozen times but it wouldn't open!” His eyes narrow and he puts a hand on Castiel's shoulders. “The lights were flickering. Was that bastard here? What did he do to you?”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Castiel leans into the touch, too drained to care or even be surprised that Balthazar steps forward into what could almost be considered a hug as he puts an arm around Castiel's shoulders. “I just want to go to bed.”

Balthazar hesitates, like he wants to say something. It's a small blessing that he doesn't. He guides Castiel back to his bedroom, even going so far as to tuck him into the bed. The 'call if you need me' is unspoken, but Castiel knows it's there and he appreciates it. He lays on his side, facing the wall and tries not to remember that barely an hour ago he'd been in the same position against Dean's side. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries hard to clear his mind so he can just _sleep_.

It comes easier than he expected, but by the time his alarm rings in the morning Castiel doesn't feel any more rested than before. At least the only nausea he feels is likely due to how upset he is. It takes him nearly a half hour to crawl out of bed. Most of that time is spent staring at his phone and wondering if he should text Dean and apologize for what he said, or at least try and explain himself better. He didn't want to hurt him.

Why couldn't he have just said that he's not ready for what Dean was asking for? Why didn't he just say that and tell Dean he needed more time and more proof that if he gives in he won't be hurt? He knows there’s no guarantee that he won't be, but he never even asked Dean what he wanted out of this. Does Dean want a relationship or does he want it to be just physical? Castiel doesn't want it to be the latter. He wants _more_ and he's ashamed at how selfish he is for that.

It's less than an hour before Sunday mass when Castiel drags himself out of his room, his phone tucked away in the pocket of his slacks. All he needs is a shave and at least one cup of coffee and he'll be ready to meet the congregation. At least right now he'll be able to use routine to help distract him from everything going on in his personal life. It was so much easier when he barely had one of those.

Surprisingly, Balthazar is already awake and dressed at the kitchen table. He doesn't say anything but there's a steaming mug of coffee sitting on the counter and a newspaper spread open in front of him. Castiel murmurs his thanks and takes the coffee with him to the bathroom. It doesn't look any different than it did yesterday, but it _feels_ different and Castiel spends as little time in there as possible.

“I'll have some breakfast ready when you get back.” Balthazar says, not even looking up from the newspaper when Castiel passes through the kitchen on his way to the Church. “And don't even think of saying that you're not hungry. I don't know what happened in that bathroom last night, but I'm not going to just sit back and let you mope.”

Castiel feels too numb to respond. He's not sure he'd be able to choke anything down, but he'll try for Balthazar's sake. It will likely be the only way to keep him from nagging. He's annoyingly good at that.

He doesn't have the time to clean up before mass. Since he usually does a quick clean after every congregation, it's not exactly dirty, but he likes to sweep and dust everything in the mornings. Several people are already waiting outside the doors when he unlocks them and he can barely keep a smile in place long enough to greet them.

For the first time in a very long time, Castiel stumbles on his words more than once during his service. He can see the worried looks passed between some of the parishioners. Apparently his not-quite-a-fight with Dean has shaken him more than he thought. Or perhaps it can be attributed to everything that happened before that. Within a matter of hours Castiel had almost lost Dean, had saved him, and basically rejected him. It was never his intention to push Dean away like that and even during mass he can't escape from thinking about him.

To his surprise, no one stays afterwards. Usually at least a few people hang back to speak with him, but today all he gets are warm wishes as they shake his hand before leaving. Some people – those he knows are more nosy than others – seem like they want to ask questions, but they keep it to themselves and leave with everyone else. He doesn't have the energy or the will to clean up when they're all gone. If anything, Castiel wants to go back to bed and sleep the rest of the day away – though the chances of that happening are slim to none if Balthazar has any say in the matter.

There's a plate of only slightly burnt eggs – sunny side up, just how Castiel likes it – and toast waiting for him on the table when he returns to the rectory. Balthazar's paper is folded and he's typing away at his phone with an intensity that borders on the furious. Castiel doesn't want to know who he's messaging, but he can make a decent guess and he only slightly regrets that he ever put Dean and Sam’s phone numbers in Balthazar's contact book for emergency purposes.

He pours himself another cup of coffee before sitting down to attempt to eat as much of his breakfast as he can. Balthazar is still being unusually closed mouth, but at least he's not staring at Castiel while he carefully flips one of the eggs onto a slice of toast so the yolk is face down. Castiel eats it slowly, though he feels full before he's even half done the first egg.

“What are you going to do today?” Balthazar asks suddenly, putting his phone down with a little more force than necessary. His mouth is drawn into an unhappy line and he crosses his arms over his chest when he sits back in his chair. “You're not getting cabin fever yet are you?”

Castiel shakes his head and shrugs. “I'm fine. I used to only go out once a week for groceries and laundry anyways.” There's still one egg and one slice of toast left but he doesn't think he can stomach anymore and he pushes the plate away. “Thank you for breakfast. You can finish it if you want. I'm going to get ahead in my paperwork for December. There are a few charity events that I have to organize from here since I won't be able to attend them.”

Balthazar pulls the plate the rest of the way across the table. “How come?”

“I'm on lock down, aren't I?” He gestures around the rectory to make his point. “I shouldn't go anywhere without one or both of my angelic guardians.”

A few days ago he had been unhappy about that, a bitter tang filling his mouth whenever he thought about it. Now he just feels numb. There's no feeling there, just a buzzing ball of _nothing_. After last night, he doesn't think that either Dean or Sam are going to want to go anywhere with him. It's after noon already and Dean hasn't texted him once – and neither has Sam. He had thought that by now Sam would have at least messaged him to make sure that he's okay.

True to his word, Castiel stays in his office and makes a valiant attempt to focus on his work. Aside from the charity drives and events he'll be organizing, there's also the soup kitchen to be run on Christmas Day and he has to make sure that the shelters in his parish that are sponsored by the Church will have enough beds for everyone. From his emails it seems that they're not under staffed or over full yet.

It's still not enough of a distraction for him. Castiel catches his thoughts drifting to what Dean might be doing, if he's okay or if he's still upset. More than once his hand strays to his phone and he stops himself before sending any kind of message or calling him. He's a little afraid of anything that Dean might say. What if Dean tells him to stop messaging him altogether? What if Dean never wants to see him again? Castiel doesn't want to lose his friendship entirely. He treasures the relationship he has with Sam and Dean – even if he wants to be more than just friends with Dean.

Balthazar interrupts him with a late lunch, and supper too when the time comes. It's either leftovers or something simple from a can and Castiel almost smiles at his brother's ineptitude when it comes to cooking on his own. If he has some kind of instruction, Balthazar is more than capable of cooking a decent meal. But as soon as he has to cook alone, he reverts to fast food and microwave dinners. As simple as the meals are, Castiel appreciates them and how Balthazar eats with him in the office, making conversation about some of the hunts he's advised on while manning Castiel's hunter-phone.

Castiel is aware that Balthazar is carefully avoiding taking the topic of their conversation to anything that might lead back to angels – and specifically to Dean. It's almost amusing. He can tell that Balthazar desperately wants to know what happened last night in the bathroom. Clearly he wasn't able to get the information out of Dean or Sam while he was messaging either of them.

It takes two unexpectedly quiet days for Balthazar to snap and corner Castiel just as he's coming out of the bathroom from a shower, his dirty clothes folded over one arm and his shirt undone. “I can't take it anymore, Cassie! You barely say anything unless I wheedle it out of you, you're sleeping more than usual and you're not even _cooking_. You haven't said a word about Dean in days and your phone's been quiet this whole time.”

Balthazar gestures grandly and Castiel takes a step back to avoid accidentally getting smacked by a stray wave. “Sam's the only one who'll answer my messages and he's gone into a level of cryptic that God Himself couldn't decipher. You're as close to _depressed_ as I've ever seen you and you need to tell me what that bastard did before I go out of my mind!”

In all honesty, Castiel is impressed it took Balthazar this long to confront him. Usually he can't stand to be left out of anything for longer than twenty-four hours. That numb feeling in his chest has expanded, smothering even his worries that Dean doesn't want anything to do with him now. He still hurts and he still wants to apologize, but he thinks about doing that less and less as the days go by. Castiel knows that waiting isn't helping anything and it is entirely possible that it's just making things worse, but he doesn't know _how_ to apologize.

Would a simple 'I'm sorry' suffice? Should he do it through text, a phone call, or face to face? Will he even be able to speak to Dean in person without losing his nerves? And with how quiet it’s been here – no demons or angels making undue house calls – it’s entirely possible that Dean and Sam haven’t had the time to contact him because they’re out there working hard to keep everyone away from him.

“ _Cassie_.” Balthazar drops both his hands on his shoulders, looking more serious than Castiel has ever seen him. Even during hunts he rarely looks this severe. “Tell me what happened.”

He sighs and points up the hall to the kitchen. “Go make some coffee. I'll tell you everything after I'm dressed.” There's no reason for keeping it a secret now that Balthazar has reached his breaking point.

It doesn't even take him a full thirty minutes to explain everything that happened before, during and after when Dean had touched his soul and what had taken place in the bathroom. Balthazar doesn't interrupt him the entire time, watching him over the rim of his coffee mug until Castiel is finished. He’s so tired of secrets that he doesn’t bother trying to sugar coat anything for Balthazar’s sake. The truth – as much as it might upset him – is what Castiel gives him.

It takes several minutes after that before Balthazar even says anything. He sounds unusually calm considering the topic. “And you haven’t spoken to him since?”

Castiel shakes his head, looking down at his half empty mug. “I don't know what to say to him. An apology doesn't seem like enough.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Balthazar sits forward, hands folded on the table. “We're humans, not angels. We work in actions and words – not soul touching or seeing emotions and thoughts.” He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “I'm not even going to touch that whole marking thing or how bloody fucked up it is that you're getting tangled up with an _angel_ – but I can't stand seeing you like this anymore, Cassie. Just – just _talk_ to the bastard. I don't care what you say, just talk to him and work out this bullshit before I end up shooting someone.”

“It's not that easy.”

He snorts a laugh that Castiel frowns at. “Talking is exactly that easy. Look how easy it was to talk in the bathroom and how easy it was to piss him off. Now just go talk to him again and this time neither of you runs away. You sit and you talk like the adult and the angel that you two are and you work it out.”

Castiel tilts his head, watching Balthazar pensively. “I thought you didn't like the idea of Dean and I being friends, let alone more than that.”

“I didn't say work it out so you can make gross kissy faces with each other. Just get back to being friends or something again so you're not a giant mope and Sam doesn't have to struggle with the daily urge to smite your idiot boy-toy.”

“You've been talking with Sam?” He sits up a little straighter, curious to know what they've been saying.

“I tried to get everything out of him the same day it happened since it seems like Dean's shut off his phone, but he shut up tighter than your chastity belt.” Balthazar digs his phone out of his pocket and flips it open. “Apparently the infinite patience of angels isn't so infinite. He messaged me this morning and demanded that I talk you into talking to Dean before he ends up getting himself killed – or worse, getting them both killed.”

That numb feeling in his chest recedes, concern growing tight around his lungs. “What do you mean?”

“I don't know. Find out yourself.” Balthazar drops his phone on the table and leans back in his chair, stretching to fill it like he's draping himself over it. “I'm done playing messenger boy. I got what I wanted and now I feel like I need a good smoke or at least a cattle prod to put to that bastard's balls.”

“Don't you d–”

“Oh Christ, I'm _joking_ , Cassie. A cattle prod wouldn't do any good against an angel.” He laughs again and runs a hand through his hair. “I'm acknowledging defeat. I surrender to your stubborn intent to make the same mistake I've seen other hunters do – falling for something supernatural. I'm just going to have to prepare for being here as damage control if he ever breaks your heart.”

After a pause, he grins. “And don’t think I’m going to make it easy for him. If he’s going to claim my baby brother’s heart, then you can damn well bet that I’m going to be the brother-in-law from hell.”

Castiel doesn’t bother rising to the bait, slumping back in his chair and staring at his mug instead. He wants to talk to Dean, but there's so much at stake. It's perhaps why he spends his evening sitting cross-legged on his bed with his back against the wall and his phone open on the blankets before him. Maybe he should just send an apology and ask the one question that's been bothering him the most over the last few days. He knows that Dean wants him but _what_ does he want from him?

“Oh for the love of – would you just pick up the damn thing and _call_ him?”

He throws his pillow in the general direction of the door, wishing that he'd closed it. If Balthazar is going to insist that he do this, then he needs to let him do it on his own time. Castiel tilts his head back against the wall and stares at the ceiling, composing a possible message in his head. Once he plans one that he finds moderately acceptable – meaning that it's as perfect as it's going to get – he takes a deep breath to steel himself and picks up the phone.

First he sends a message to Sam, asking him to make sure that Dean's phone is on or at least still in one piece for what he's about to send. Sam's response is almost immediate.

                _Thank you_.

A small smile lifts the corner of his mouth for a moment before he starts tapping out his message to Dean. His hands are surprisingly steady and there are few typing errors that he needs to correct before the message is finally ready. Castiel reads it over a few times before he deems it acceptable. It takes less time to work himself up to hitting the send button than he thought it would. Perhaps he was more ready for this than he thought he was.

                _I'm sorry, Dean. It was never my intention to hurt you. There is more that we need to talk about and I hope you'll forgive me long enough to discuss them._

It's not until he's getting ready for bed that his phone beeps again. Castiel is brushing his teeth in the bathroom at the time. He almost sprints to his bedroom with his toothbrush still in his mouth to intercept Balthazar from getting to it before he does, actually shoving him hard enough to send him tumbling onto the bed. The phone is on the bedside table and Castiel grabs it.

Balthazar follows him back to the bathroom, sticking close to his shoulder. “Well, what does it say? Cassie, open it.”

Castiel makes him wait until he's finished brushing his teeth. He opens the phone and the message while leaning his hip against the counter, making sure to shield the screen so Balthazar won't be able to read it. The frustrated groan it gets him is extremely satisfying. It's rare that he gets the chance to annoy Balthazar like a little brother should. Normally he's the one playing the role of the older brother.

                _virtues. we're virtues._

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Balthazar huffs when Castiel reads the message out to him.

They go to Castiel's computer, and more specifically the _internet_ , to answer the question. A quick search of ‘angel’ in association to ‘virtues’ gives them everything they need. According to certain theologies regarding the hierarchies of angels, the Virtues are an order within the second sphere.

Castiel reads all the articles he can find regarding them, wondering just how accurate it all is. As best as he can tell, Virtues are angels who make sure that heaven stays orderly. Balthazar gets bored by the third website and goes back to his own laptop in the kitchen, muttering about what a fantastic job the Virtues are doing if the apocalypse is coming down around their ears. At least it means he's not in the room when Castiel messages Dean again.

                _How accurate is what we know about angels?_

                _humans still believes God is in heaven_

“I'll take that to mean 'not very'.” Castiel murmurs, sitting back in his desk chair and glancing at the computer screen again before he sends another message. _That's just what we call the closest thing to what you are, isn't it?_

_bingo_

Castiel can't help smiling at his phone. This is Dean trying. He's making an effort to share more of his past. It's a start and it's enough for Castiel to completely ignore Balthazar's smirk when he passes him in the kitchen on his way back to his bedroom. With the door firmly shut and his pillow back on his bed, Castiel sends another message.

                _Thank you, Dean._

_yeah well that probably wasn't the best time for us 2 talk. sorry about that_

He feels like a teenager laying in his bed and staring at the glow of his phone's screen. It's made all the worse by his small smile. They're talking again and Dean doesn't seem to be all that upset with him. Castiel is tempted to ask if they're alright, or when he'll get to see Dean again. The numb feeling in his chest is quickly dissipating, but he's still very unsure about where to go from here. Now that they're talking again, how long will it be before one of them broaches the topic of being _more_ than friends? He's not sure if he's capable of it and he's still doesn’t know what Dean wants from him.

The screen on his phone turns off in the time that he stares at it. When he receives another message, it flashes on again and makes him squint, hissing at the sharp stab of pain between his eyes.

                _it's late. go to sleep, cas. we're setting fires under everyone's asses but we'll come visit ASAP_

_Stay safe. Both of you._

'As Soon As Possible' isn't as long as Castiel thinks it would be. Barely a week passes before he comes back from mass to find them both sitting opposite one another at the kitchen table, their personal coffee mugs steaming before them. They both glance up at him when he enters the room but Dean looks back down the moment their eyes meet, his hands firmly wrapped around his mug. He doesn't look particularly uncomfortable, but Castiel tries not to let it affect him as he pours his own cup of coffee and joins them at the table.

They haven’t quite managed to return to the easy messaging that they had before the night Alistair returned. Castiel hopes that it’s only because Dean and Sam were busy with seals and keeping everyone distracted enough to ignore him, and not because things are awkward between them. Although that appears to be the case at the moment, since Dean can hardly look at him for very long and – if he’s being honest – Castiel isn’t much different.

When he looks at Dean he remembers every expression he’d had when they spoke in the bathroom. He can pick out the exact location of his handprint, tracing the shape with his eyes despite there being no sign of it through the layers of Dean’s clothing. Looking at Dean makes his chest feel too small and too full with something that isn’t quite fear, but there is an unhealthy amount of uncertainty mixed in. Dean hasn’t mentioned anything about his past since the Virtues and Castiel doesn’t want to ask for more unless Dean is willing to give it. He’s still waiting for the right time to ask Dean what it is he wants.

Castiel locks those thoughts away for later and glances between Sam and Dean, returning Sam’s small smile with one of his own. “It's nice to see you both again. Is everything okay?”

“Not really.” Sam sighs, running a hand through his hair. “The demons are getting craftier with stopping _us_ from stopping _them_. We're actually here because we need help.”

“ _Balthazar's_ help.” Dean specifies, looking up long enough to narrow a glare at Sam. “The bastard isn't answering his phone and we've been texting and calling him for the last few hours.” He glances at Castiel, this time actually holding his gaze for a few moments before he looks away again. “Is he still hanging around?”

Castiel nods, taking a long drink from his coffee. Talking about their work is a decent distraction from what's going on between him and Dean, but it's clear that Dean doesn't know how to act around him right now. Maybe he's ashamed of how he acted before, or maybe he doesn't want to make Castiel uncomfortable – not that either of them has ever been uncomfortable with looking at each other. Sam makes a huffing noise and Castiel looks at him curiously only to find him rolling his eyes.

“Is there are problem, Sam?”

“It's not a problem, but it's definitely annoying.” He answers, not looking away from Dean. “Could you at least wait until I'm not in the room before you do that?”

“Do what?” Castiel glances between the angels. Is Sam uncomfortable with the tension between them?

“Fuck off, Sam.” Dean grumbles, hunching his shoulders and glaring at this coffee. “Where the hell is your dick of a brother? We need him.”

“It's laundry day. He took our clothes to town and he should be getting groceries too. Why?”

Sam sighs when Dean vanishes, slumping back in his seat and running a hand over his face. “He's not going to like that I'm telling you this, but we need a hunter's help. Balthazar's the only one that we know – aside from you, and Dean refused to bring you in on this – that knows about us and the seals and might be willing to lend a hand.”

While they wait for Dean to return with Balthazar – and Castiel can only assume that his brother is being difficult and refusing to leave – Sam tells Castiel all about the seal. “It's a hospital.” He rubs a hand over his face again. “A hospital covered in angel warding symbols. Dean and I can't get in, let alone even touch it.” Apparently the demons are far craftier than Castiel gives them credit for.

He doesn't like the sinking feeling in his chest at the pinched, unhappy look that takes over Sam's expression. “What are they going to do to it?”

“They're going to unleash hellhounds and lock the doors. No one is going to live through that, Cas. _No one_. Those hellhounds are going to rip every person in that building apart.” His voice is low, like it's a whispered secret he's not supposed to share. “It's _tonight_ and if we can't get Balthazar to help us, I don't know who will.”

“I could–”

“Dean would flay me alive, starting with my grace, if I even _thought_ of suggesting to him that you could help.” Sam looks up at him sharply, but his expression softens almost immediately. “He cares about you a lot, you know. If something happened to you in there and we weren't able to get to you in time – it would wreck him. I can't do that to him.”

Castiel can feel heat crawling up his neck and spreading through his chest. He ducks his head to take a sip from his coffee, hoping that this mention won't change their conversation. It's hard enough talking about what's between them with Dean, and _he's_ actually a part of this. If Sam starts trying to give him advice – things he's fairly certain he already knows – he's sure that Dean won't be happy about it. Besides, if there's something that Dean wants him to know, he'd rather hear it from Dean himself – even if it would be monumentally easier to get it from Sam.

Thankfully Sam seems to get the message without Castiel needing to voice it. “I know you're a strong hunter in your own right, Cas, and I'd be happy to have your help. But –”

“What if we didn't tell Dean that I was going to help?” Castiel ventures, tilting his head as he thinks it over. He doesn't like the idea of lying to Dean, but he likes the idea of sending someone else into such a dangerous situation when he could simply do it himself even less. “If Balthazar does agree to help, we could tell Dean that I'm going to stay here and that I've found another hunter in the area of the hospital. Then you can convince Dean to go off and continue keeping the other angels and demons off of me. While he's gone, I'll take care of the hellhounds with Balthazar.”

Sam stares at him, eyes wide with surprise. “You want to _lie_ to Dean?”

“Technically it won't be a lie. I'm a hunter and after you take us there, I'll be in the area.” He looks down at his coffee to get away from the disapproving glare. “If I'm going to be leaving where I'm safest, it would be in everyone's best interest that at least one of you is out and about keeping attention away from us and the seal.”

“There are going to be demons watching the seal to make sure it breaks and to round up the hellhounds afterwards.” Sam points out, leaning his elbows on the table.

“Then it's a good thing you'll be around to make sure that they don't stop us from stopping them.” He glances up, slightly pleased that Sam actually looks like he's considering the idea. “I do hate lying to Dean, but I want to help and this is as good an excuse as any to finally get out of here. I try not to let it bother me because during the winter I'm usually locked up in here anyways, but I do miss getting to spend a day in town every once in a while.”

Sam nods, giving him a reassuring smile. “Trust me, Cas. Between Dean and me, I understand that the best.” His smile falters and he looks down at his hands again. “I couldn't wait to get out of heaven and I was pretty damn disappointed when Zachariah – he's another angel, by the way – told us that they didn't need any more help to stop the apocalypse. But then Dean suggested looking for God and I jumped at the chance.”

“You don't like heaven?”

“It's fine, I guess. I just needed to get out for a while.” Sam runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Forget it. Let's focus on this. You sure you want to lie to Dean like this? He's going to be _furious_ when he finds out that you helped – especially if something happens to you.”

Castiel resists chewing his lip as he thinks about it. The only downside to his plan is that it's going to upset Dean and he runs the risk of actually dying. The latter is something he's come to accept the moment he steps outside the door, whether it's for a hunt or on his way to town for an errand – especially as of late since it's been made known that he's on the side of a pair of renegade angels. That's not even taking into account the whole _apocalypse_.

“We'll just have to make sure that nothing happens to me.” Castiel murmurs. “I've fought a number of things as vicious as a hellhound, so my skills aren’t in question. The only problem is that I can't _see_ them. Aside from that, I think I have some vibernum in the basement. It's a plant that protects against hellhounds. If Balthazar and I carry enough on our person, they might not come near us and we can just shoot them down. Better yet, we could use it to protect the civilians – gather them in rooms that are hellhound free and lay some of the plant just inside the doors to keep them out.”

Sam is looking at him again, head tilted and eyes wide like he can't quite figure out what he's looking at. It's almost enough to make Castiel feel uncomfortable. “What?”

“How did you know about vibernum?”

“I read.” He shrugs and stands, taking his coffee cup with him to the basement and calling back over his shoulder as he goes down the stairs. “There are more books down here than most people read in a life time and I make sure to devote to memory the things I think would be helpful.” There's a bundle of vibernum in a trunk, tied carefully with twine and wrapped in a blanket to keep out the damp and mice. He finds it quickly and brings it back upstairs with him. “Hellhounds are tricky and annoying to deal with when you're helping someone who made a deal.”

Sam smiles brightly and takes the bundle, running his fingers over the leaves. “Thanks, Cas. This isn't going to be nearly enough, though.” He stands and puts it down on the table. “I'll go get more. You get a couple bags ready with enough ammo, guns and you'll probably need a blade or two. A machete should do it. Oh, and you'll need two pairs of glasses – they don't need to be prescription and I don't know if you want to be wandering through a hospital with sunglasses on.”

“I think I've got a few in my box of disguises when I’m on a job.” Castiel turns toward his bedroom, hesitating in the door way. “But why would I –” Sam is already gone when he turns around.

His box of fake IDs and various things he uses for disguises is located in the top of his closet. He has two different styles of fake glasses and he's immensely pleased to have them. Leaving those on the table, he takes two duffle bags to the basement to fill them with necessary ammo. With the number of hellhounds unknown, he makes sure to pack a few trays of shotgun shells and plenty of magazines for the handguns he lays on top of it all. Balthazar will have his own weapons, but he'll need the ammo.

“What part of ' _no_ ' don't you understand?” Balthazar's sharp tones echo down the stairs before Castiel has found his machete. “After the shit you put Cassie through I'm not doing anything for you.”

“There are actual _lives_ at stake here and you're going to hold off on helping because of that?” Dean snaps back and Castiel stops, unsure of whether he should let them know that he can hear them. He keeps silent when Dean continues. “I _know_ I fucked up. I pushed sooner than Cas was ready and I'm trying to make up for it, so stop holding that over my head and do your fucking job.”

“Newsflash, genius, _I can't see hellhounds_. Even if I wanted to help, I'd be dead in five minutes, puppy poop in ten. That's not exactly an ending I'm keen on taking.”

Castiel sighs and grabs both bags. They're as ready as they're going to be. He zips up the one with his weapons in it, hefting them both as he takes the stairs, ensuring he makes enough noise that they hear him. Dean doesn't answer Balthazar's snarky comment, instead opening the door the entire way.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Helping.” He brushes past him as he shoves the open bag toward Balthazar, noting the groceries on the counter and the folded laundry in a hamper by his bedroom door. “You're going to shut up and do your job. You haven't hunted in nearly a month and you'll get fat if you don't exercise regularly.” Castiel turns back to Dean just as quickly, carefully dumping his duffle on the chair. “Before you go off about me for helping – I'm giving them ammo and whatever Sam needs those glasses for. I called around and found a hunter who's in the area of the hospital and he's going to meet you there.”

Dean closes his mouth and relaxes slightly. The tingle Castiel had noticed in the air eases away. It's a little easier to breathe and the small smile he gives Dean isn`t very forced, though goosebumps unexpectedly shiver across his shoulders. “Sam and I also discussed that one of you should go around making a fuss to keep the demons – or angels – from noticing what Balthazar and Rufus are doing.”

“Rufus?” Balthazar splutters, dropping the bag on the table and nearly crushing the glasses. “That old coot? He's on the wrong side of crazy, Cassie. I can't –”

“Don't start. You _know_ the older hunters are the better ones.” Castiel turns a glare on him. “And he was one of Bobby's friends. If _Bobby_ could trust him to watch his back, you can too.” That stops him and Balthazar looks away, shamefaced. It's almost enough to make Castiel feel bad for lying to them both – which he already does, but that's beside the point.

“Bobby?” Dean asks softly and he looks surprised – likely because in all the times that they've talked, Castiel has mentioned but never named him.

He nods, heading for his bedroom with the intent to change clothes. If they ask him why, he can pass it off as being finished with his Church work for the day and wanting to be in something comfortable while he waits for them to all come home safely. It's just another lie and he hopes they don't ask. The last thing he wants to do is lie to them _more_ when he knows that one – or both – of them is going to be very unhappy that he's lied to them in the first place.

“Bobby Singer.” Balthazar fills in before Castiel can. “He was the one who trained us to be hunters. Most of Cassie's collection in the basement came from his place after he died.”

Castiel listens to them through the partially closed door. Dean isn't saying anything, but Balthazar is going on about how much Bobby taught them and how they met. He changes into a comfortable pair of jeans and rather than go for the t-shirt he would usually wear for an evening around the rectory, he grabs one of his plaid button-ups and carefully tucks his clerical collar into a pocket. With what they're about to go into, people are going to be more likely to listen to him if he's got a band of white around his neck. Without it he'll just look like a madman with a gun and it's very possible that someone might think that he and Balthazar are the ones attacking the hospital.

Just to maintain the illusion that he's not going with them, Castiel puts on his slippers and zips a hoodie over his button up. Sam is back in the kitchen when he comes out, heading for the coffee machine to pour himself another cup. Balthazar is fitting the vibernum into the duffles but Castiel's attention is drawn to the intricately shaped pitcher in Sam's hands.

“What's that?” He asks, gesturing at it.

“Holy oil.” Sam shakes the jug, sloshing the contents. “If we burn the glasses with it, any wearer will be able to see hellhounds – or at the very least, the shape of them. I'm not too sure. I've never seen it done, only heard of it.”

Dean sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning back against the counter. Incidentally, he's standing right next to the coffee pot and Castiel's shoulder bumps with his as he fills his mug. Castiel tries to tell himself that the small contact doesn’t send something warm raking through him, but it does and he has to force himself not to react – force himself not to think about how it's the first time they've touched since Dean stepped away from him in the bathroom.

“So how are you going to decide which of you watches the exits and which of you gets to go be the gingerbread man?” Balthazar asks, zipping closed the bags and shouldering them both. “Might I suggest a rousing game of rock-paper-scissors? Preferably sometime this century before I change my mind.

Castiel almost inhales his coffee when Dean turns to face Sam and they both immediately hold out their hands as if they truly are going to play the game. He doesn't know where they learned it, but Sam looks more amused than he should and Dean is much too serious for something so childish. Balthazar seems to find this all hilarious and he even referees, announcing Sam as the winner with rock over scissors.

“Y'know, I'm thinking you lied to me.” Dean hisses, dropping his hand. “Scissors doesn't _always_ win.”

Sam shrugs and takes one of the bags from Balthazar. “Winner gets to help with the seal. If you run into any trouble, call for me and I'll come if I can. Otherwise, just run.”

Dean glares at him and Castiel lifts a hand in a small wave, murmuring well wishes around the edge of his coffee mug. He meets Sam's eyes before he puts a hand on Balthazar's shoulder and they disappear together. As soon as Dean leaves, Castiel is going to text Sam to come back and get him. It's at that moment that he realizes he's been left alone with Dean – and they haven't been alone together since the bathroom. He tries to remain nonchalant, leaning against the counter and silently wondering if Dean plans on turning around any time soon.

“I can undo it.” Dean says suddenly, his back still to Castiel. “If you don't want it, I can remove it.”

“You're talking about the mark you left on my soul.” He puts his mug down and steps away from the counter. “Am I able to do the same for you and the claim I made to your grace?”

Dean flinches before his shoulders straighten out and he turns around to face him. “Yeah, you can.” His expression is blank, empty of emotion and Castiel doesn't like seeing him like this. It's as if he's pulled back from his vessel, like he's drawing away from _him_.

That nervous, queasy feeling is pushing up under his ribs again and Castiel tries to ignore it. This is a conversation that they need to have and if this is the time Dean wants to have it, then he's going to have to suck it up and talk. He can't run from this forever and they can't just keep ignoring everything between them – especially not when they both carry such intimate symbols of each other.

“Do _you_ want me to, Dean?”

“ _No_.” He responds immediately, the emotionless mask not accounting for the hurt in his voice or how his hands ball into fists before he shoves them into the pockets of his jacket. “If you don't want me to have it, I can get rid of it. But I wanted it, Cas.” His voice drops and he looks away, glancing across the kitchen at nothing in particular. “I thought you did too.”

Castiel takes a deep breath, steadying himself and finding the courage he's been trying to build up all week with every new text that Dean had sent him. “I still do, Dean.”

“Then _why_ are you –” Dean cuts off, visibly reigning himself in before he continues his outburst. “Then why are you fighting it? I know you want more from me, and I'm _trying_ but I – It's not like it's _easy_. But you _know_ how I feel and you're _still_ – I don't _understand._ ”

He curls his fingers in the hem of his hoodie, ignoring the buzz of his phone in its pocket. “I know, Dean, but this is all very... _new_ to me. I'm – I _do_ want you. You know that I do.” Castiel sighs and glances down at his feet, searching for the right words, trying to remember all the questions that he wanted to ask before. He can only remember one of them now. “What do you want, Dean? From me, from whatever could happen between us – what do _you_ want?”

“You, Cas. I want you – _all_ of you. Everyth – _fuck_.” His eyebrows come together in an unhappy frown and he lifts a hand to his temple, grinding the heel of his palm into it. “Sam's bitching at me to get a move on before someone notices the holy fire.”

Something that had been wound too tight in Castiel's chest loosens and he's not sure if it's because of Dean's words or Sam's intervention. Goosebumps race up his arms and across his back and he's not sure why. He's been holding Dean's eyes since he asked his question and the rectory is at a comfortable heat currently. It's almost the kind of reaction he feels when Dean gathers his grace and makes the air tremble with that sense of a pending storm.

“I've got to go.” Dean sighs and runs his hand through his hair in a sharp, frustrated gesture before he attempts one of his usual grins. “What are the chances that you'll let me have a kiss goodbye?”

With those words, something _else_ pulls tight behind his ribs. It's a kind of pulsing anticipation and Castiel is well aware of how his gaze drops to Dean's lips as he contemplates the idea. Kissing Dean now would give him a different memory to look back on instead of that brief moment before Dean had touched his soul – but can he? A nagging voice in the back of his mind reminds him of his vows and Castiel almost hates it for a moment.

“Never mind, Cas.” Dean sighs, shoulders slouching slightly. “I can wait.”

“I'm sorry.” He murmurs, looking away. “I want to, but I'm – I don't think I'm ready yet. If I thought you were just joking around because of the apron, I would be okay, but now that I know –”

Castiel stops short when Dean steps into his personal space. He doesn't move when Dean leans in and his lips brush his cheek, his fingers circling his wrist for just a moment before he's stepping away again.

“Just pretend you were wearing the apron.” Dean grins again and this time it comes to him easier. “Never knew you were kinky like that, Cas.”

The blush burns in his ears and Castiel doesn't even manage to hiss his name before Dean vanishes in a rustle of wing beats and laughter. He tries to ignore the phantom tingle on his cheek as he texts Sam to come get him. Castiel exchanges his slippers for a pair of runners, not bothering bother to change his hoodie for a jacket. It would be too much bulk and he doesn't need it right now. Instead, he grabs the perishables from the grocery bags and shoves them into the fridge.

He turns around to find Sam waiting behind him. “What took you so long?”

“I was helping Balthazar with making a kind of necklace out of the vibernum.” He shrugs, dropping a hand on Castiel's shoulder.

The world wavers for a moment, changing from his kitchen to a chill winter night between some snow covered cars in a parking lot outside of the rural hospital. It's been a while since Castiel has been taken anywhere by an angel and it takes him a minute to adjust to that sense of displacement – like suddenly falling down without really falling. Balthazar is hunched over a small fire, holding the two pairs of glasses and making sure that the flames lick the non-prescription lenses. He’s wearing a wreath of vibernum around his neck.

“I knew you were lying. Rufus always spends the winter hunting in Florida.” He grumbles, not looking up from what he's doing. “How long do I have to keep this up? You said the lenses wouldn't melt, but this got boring two seconds after I started.”

“You could've stopped then.” Sam lets go of Castiel's shoulder and looks over the roof of a car. “I'll take care of the fire and that locked door. You just get in, put the glasses on, and get to work. Send as many people out as you can. I can tell from here that there are demons in there too and if you try locking the civilians in protected rooms, the demons are going to undo it the moment you leave.”

Castiel shoulders his duffle bag, taking out the shotgun and accepting the items Balthazar hands him. He slides the glasses onto the top of his head and puts the vibernum around his neck. “Will we be able to see demons with these?”

“Probably. Again, I've only heard about these things in theory.”

“Well _that's_ encouraging.” Balthazar mutters, standing up and ducking away between the cars.

Sam grabs his arm before Castiel can follow him. “I wasn't kidding, Cas. Be careful in there. I trust your skills enough to have agreed with you on this, but Dean's my brother and if you get hurt – I don't want to see what that's going to do to him now that he knows you – Just, be careful. Both of you.

Castiel can only nod, his heart already beating hard with the building adrenaline of a hunt. It feels like it's lodged in his throat and serves only to remind him of how he lied to Dean about this. He has to run to catch up with Balthazar, stooping to keep at least some kind of cover by the sparse cars dotting the parking lot. Snow crunches under his shoes and his breath is a white mist, but he doesn’t feel cold.

They find the door unlocked, just like Sam said. It’s nothing more than a back entrance, likely used by the janitorial staff to take garbage out to the dumpsters against the wall. Balthazar shares a look with him, just one to see if he’s ready. Castiel nods and cocks the shotgun, lifting it to his shoulder. They lower their glasses and go into the hospital one after the other.

The moment he sets foot inside, Castiel shuts off everything else. He doesn’t think about Dean, he doesn’t think about the Church, he doesn’t think about anything more than the people who need saving and the hellhounds they come across in the halls. They’re ugly beasts with twisted feline bodies - vicious, quick and _dangerous_. The vibernum repels them for a while, when it’s just one or two. But the more that come, the less effective it seems.

It’s a blur from the first step to the moment the last hellhound falls and the demons organizing them escape in billows of black smoke. The glasses are handy, and Castiel thinks he might wear them on every hunt involving demon activity from now on. With them, those who are possessed have blurred edges to them, like their features are being seen through a dark fog.

He remembers everything in flashes as he helps Balthazar hobble back through the hospital to the door they came in – the first hellhound they found had been chasing down a nurse; there had been a group that surprised them around a corner; and there was one that got Balthazar by the ankle, leaving him limping and complaining about how difficult it is to find a pair of pants he actually likes. Castiel doesn’t leave the hospital without wounds of his own – a split lip from a demon who got in a lucky punch, various claw marks on his arms and legs, and a deep scrape on his forehead from when he’d been tackled by a confused and probably terrified hospital patient.

They don’t know if they stopped the seal, or how many lives were saved or lost – but they did their job and they survived. In any hunter’s books, that would be considered a job well done. To Castiel, it’s much the same but he will put aside time later to pray for those they weren’t able to save – like the child in the cancer ward that bled out under the hands of a doctor, side torn by the hellhound whose throat Castiel had slashed with the machete.

Even if he can’t remember everything now, Castiel knows it will all come back to him later when he’s calmed down enough to think straight. It wasn’t like any hunt he’s been on before – a hell on earth that he can only compare to the memories of fire that haunt his nightmares. Even Balthazar is ashen as they stumble together out of the hospital, his usual cocky attitude missing as he leans heavily against Castiel’s side to remove the weight from his shredded ankle.

Castiel is too far removed from himself to register his name the first time it’s called – or the second, or the third. He lifts his head from watching their feet to ensure that neither of them trips on anything. For an all too brief moment Castiel is surprised to see Dean crossing the parking lot toward him, Sam quick on his heels – and then he reaches something _beyond_ surprised. Even Balthazar makes a shocked noise at his side – a soft gasp muffling a quiet curse.

They’re not properly defined, smudged in the same way the demons’ smoke had tainted the edges of their meatsuits. But they do have edges, lines of bright light detailing what Castiel has only ever seen as shadows. It takes him a moment to understand just what he’s looking at and the realization steals what little breath he currently has.

He can see Dean’s _wings_.


	9. Hindsight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re a _priest_ , Cas.”
> 
> “No, I was a _hunter_ before I was ordained.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Pappcave's Reverse!Verse](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/Papp%27s-reverse%21verse). Papp has written a few things for it already (found at the link above) - part of Castiel's past included. 
> 
> And he was nice enough to do extra art for this fic too! Go give him some love!
> 
>  
> 
> **Updates the 15th and 30th of every month until the story is complete. And no, I'm sorry, I don't know how long it will be. For chapter statuses and information, please[check here.](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hunting+for+faith)**

There’s light under their skin. It’s not like holding a flashlight under your hand and seeing a red disk on the other side. This is different – like the sun seen through a layer of cloth, only the cloth is a _human_. A human with shifting, shimmering, wings of fogged incandescence. And they’re not the same – Sam’s wings are tucked tight to his back and the light isn’t moving under the glowing edges. But Dean’s are vibrant and blazing, spread wide behind him.

For one brief moment, Castiel is afraid.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Balthazar barely breathes the words and Castiel can only squeeze his arm in answer – his mouth and throat no longer wanting to work.

Despite how very bright Dean is, Castiel can still make out the barely contained storm held in his face. He’s angry and he’s likely justified in part of it since he was lied to by both Castiel and Sam – and in some small way, by Balthazar. Dean comes to a stop in front of him and his wings flare out enough for Castiel to estimate that they’re longer than he is tall. It’s the only thought he manages to have before Dean’s wings are folding forward. They actually pass _through_ Balthazar and to his credit, Balthazar doesn’t visibly flinch, though he does tense enough for Castiel to feel it against his side.

Sam slips around Dean and Balthazar goes with him without a word. It’s only when his brother is no longer standing at his side that Castiel realize Dean’s wings are curved around him. He has to resist the urge to look behind him to see if they overlap. It’s not a difficult thing to do since it’s even harder to look away from Dean’s eyes. The green is too bright – almost on the verge of being bleached out by the light behind them. Castiel’s heart stutters painfully in his chest as he’s reminded of the last time he saw them like that in the moments before Dean kissed him.

“You lied to me.” Dean hisses between clenched teeth, voice low and dangerous and it chases a chill down Castiel’s spine.

He almost flinches when Dean lifts a hand to his cheek, and he tries not to notice that he parts his lips automatically when Dean’s thumb brushes them. It stings as it passes over where the skin is split. The light in Dean’s wings ripples like a wave and they fold in tighter until they’re almost pressing in on all sides. Castiel isn’t sure if the goosebumps along his skin is just his mind making him _think_ he can feel them, or if that’s what they feel like. The only time he can remember noticing it is in the kitchen earlier, when it was just him and Dean. At the time the goosebumps had been all along his arms and back and – _oh_. How come he’s never noticed it before? Is he only noticing it now because on some other level he feel the wings thanks to the bond they’ve made?

“You _lied_ to me.” Dean repeats, his fingers going tight against Castiel’s jaw even as the aches and pains leave his body.

Castiel realizes, dimly, that Dean healed him. Now the only distraction he has is how different Dean looks. This – the wings, the light – is all a part of the _real_ Dean. It’s perhaps the only part of him that Castiel will ever get to see. Unless Dean describes or draws it, Castiel will never know what the being he actually cares for looks like. If that’s the case, maybe he can be forgiven for how long it takes him to realize Dean is waiting for an answer.

“I’m sorry.” The words feel heavy and sluggish on his tongue, like his mouth doesn’t want to work properly just yet. “Don’t be angry at Sam. It was my idea.”

The hurt passes over Dean’s face, there and gone in a flash and almost lost to the light under his skin. His other hand comes up to grip Castiel’s arm just below his elbow. “ _Why_?”

“We were short on time and I wanted to help. Out of all the hunters, Balthazar works best as a team with me.” Castiel answers, surprised when everything starts coming so easily. The more he talks, the easier it is to take back what part of him is caught up in just how radiant angels truly are. “Sam had already said you didn’t want me on this hunt and rather than debate with you about it, lying was easier.”

“Because you _shouldn’t_ be hunting.” Dean’s fingers are like a vice around Castiel’s elbow and the light in his wings blazes brighter. “I saw demons escape. When they’re in smoke form, I can’t stop them unless there’s a meat suit around to cram them into. They _saw_ you and they _escaped_ and now Alistair, Lilith, maybe even _Azazel_ is going to know that you’re out and about. What if they go after you again?”

Castiel frowns and takes a step back, not caring that it means stepping into Dean’s wings. “Then I’ll deal with it the same as I always have.” He tilts his head, turning his face away from Dean’s hand and it’s enough of a gesture that Dean lets go of him. “If anyone I can’t handle decides to show up, I’ll call for you and Sam.”

“What if they send a human after you like they did before?”

“They could do that whether I stay home or not.” A tight, unhappy knot is forming in Castiel’s stomach, matched by the one at the base of his throat.

This is the same kind of fight they’ve had before and he doesn’t want to have it now – or ever again. Castiel thought Dean had accepted that he is a capable hunter and he can do these things without needing Dean there to protect him. He just wishes he could tell if Dean is only being overprotective again because he’s angry that Castiel lied, or if it’s because he got a little injured in the hospital.

“Isn’t that why Balthazar’s sticking around?” Dean gestures vaguely to where Sam and Balthazar are standing. “He’s watching your back.”

“He can’t stay forever. There are other hunts he could be doing, people he could be helping. And I’m sick of not being _allowed_ to leave my own house.” Castiel tries to keep his voice even. He doesn’t want anyone to start yelling and he’s fairly certain Dean is already on the edge of that. “I’m capable of taking care of myself and I’ve already told you I’m not going to live in fear of anyone. If they want to come after me to get to you, then let them. I’m a hunter and I can handle it.”

“You’re a _priest_ , Cas.”

“No, I was a hunter _before_ I was ordained.”

Dean opens his mouth, but Balthazar’s cuts in before he can say anything. “I hate to interrupt this little lover’s spat, but we’re all healed up and ready to go. Can we continue the hissy fit back in the safety of Cassie’s place before someone decide to show up to deal with us? I doubt the big bosses are happy that they screwed the pooch on this one, so to speak.”

“He’s right.” Sam says as they both step up beside them. “If you don’t want Cas in any more danger tonight, then we need to go. Now.”

For the first time since Dean approached him, Castiel looks away and sees them through the shimmering fog of Dean’s wings. Balthazar is standing on his own two feet, looking for all the world like he didn’t just spend an unknown amount of time carving his way through a hospital plucked straight from hell. Sam’s wings are still folded against his back, the long primaries disappearing into the snow as if nothing of the physical world affects them. It’s then that Castiel realizes that not even the wind touches them, the breeze cutting through Dean’s wing to tug at his hair, the chill biting his skin.

“ _Fine_.”

Castiel doesn’t flinch when Dean grabs his arm. He’s too entranced with watching Sam’s wings spread wide. They’re not unlike Dean’s in shape, but at the same time they’re intrinsically different – he just doesn’t know _how_. Sam and Balthazar vanish on the first down stroke only moments before Dean’s wings uncurl to do the same. That rustling sound of feathers that always heralded Dean’s arrival or departure truly was the sound of his wings. He knows he’s openly staring and that he hasn’t told Dean that he can see them, but there hasn’t really been the chance and he can always just tell him later.

The world changes around them in a dizzy spin of colours. It’s different than usual and it takes Castiel a moment to adjust when they ‘land’ in his kitchen. Castiel isn’t really surprised that Dean’s nearest wing folds around him again the moment they’re standing in his kitchen. He just barely catches Sam rolling his eyes when he turns around to find him and Balthazar already sitting at the kitchen table. Is it because of what Dean is doing with his wings? Earlier, when it had been just the three of them and he had asked Dean to stop doing something - is this what Sam had been talking about then?

Even though he knows that he can’t really touch their wings and they’re basically just a fog hanging in the air around him, the kitchen still feels cramped now that he can see them. He would like to get a drink from the fridge, but knowing that Dean’s wing is there stops him from moving. It’s slightly disorienting and Castiel glances at Balthazar to see if he’s having the same problem. His glasses are already resting on the top of his head and he’s knuckling his eyes.

Apparently their ‘spat’ isn’t over as Dean’s upper lip curls back in what might be the beginnings of a snarl and the etched lines of light that make up the edges of his wings shift like feathers puffing up. “You shouldn’t hunt. Let me, Sam, Balthazar or anyone else handle it. But not _you_.”

“And why not?” Castiel snaps, pulling off the glasses for a sense of normalcy when he turns to face Dean completely. He ignores the little pang of loss that cuts into his chest at the inability to see the _real_ angels anymore and steps in again until he and Dean are standing toe to toe. “Is it because you think I’m incompetent, Dean?”

“No, I –”

“Then you think that I’m weak?”

Frustration is gathering along Dean’s edges, showing in the curl of his fists, the line of his shoulder, and building in the creases of his face. “No! Would you –”

Castiel tilts his chin up defiantly, cutting him off again. It’s a dangerous tactic, pushing Dean like this, but he needs to know the truth. It’s hard to ignore the static feel to the air and the scent of a pending storm. He almost wishes he was still wearing the glasses to see what Dean’s wings are doing right now. “Or is it because you think I’m _fragile_?”

“ _Yes_!”

Silence follows Dean’s answer and Castiel doesn’t know if Sam and Balthazar are being quiet out of politeness, or because of what was said, or because of how the windows shook in their frames. Dean’s voice had been layered again, like the time he spoke the first time Castiel met Alistair. For him, it’s what Dean said. That one word turned Castiel’s insides cold. It doused the angry fire in his chest and it’s left him feeling hollow again.

Where there should be outrage there’s nothing but a heavy, crushing disappointment. Castiel had thought – had _hoped_ – that Dean had moved past this. He was better after the seal in Wyoming and the only sign of protectiveness he’d given after Castiel had been stabbed was staying around for a while. But Dean shouldn’t be _this_ angry just because he helped with one little seal.

Castiel swallows around the lump affixed at the base of his throat and folds the glasses still in his hand, turning to place them on the counter. He lifts the strap of the duffle off his shoulder and over his head, dropping that to the floor too. Dean’s pursed lips and downcast eyes are at least an indicator that he knows he said something he shouldn’t have, but he’s not apologizing or explaining himself. Castiel just feels very… _tired_.

He’s stopped at his bedroom door by Dean’s hand on his shoulder. “Cas, wait. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I don’t see how you could have meant it any other way.” He sighs, shrugging the touch away and turning to face him, not caring what might be showing on his face. Whatever it is – anger, disappointment, sadness – it’s enough for Dean to almost wince, regret filling his expression. Castiel meets Dean’s eyes and in that hollow, bitter space in his chest something pulses with pain.

“We can never be anything more than this if you don’t have any faith in me, Dean.”

Before closing the door, Castiel looks away. He doesn’t want to see what his words do to Dean and this is one of those moments where he needs to be alone. A door is no barrier to an angel and Castiel knows that. He finds a pencil in the drawer on his bedside table and uses it to draw the symbols he memorized more than half a year ago on the back of the door. When done, he sits with his back against it and his arms crossed over his knees. There are muffled voices in the other room and he thinks he hears Dean mention that his bedroom is now warded against angels.

Castiel hugs his knees and stares at the edge of his bed. At first it's surprisingly easy to stare at nothing and keep his mind blank despite the bone deep ache in his chest. There's nothing for him to think about, really. He's said his peace and now it's up to Dean. Of course he's angry and hurt, but there's nothing more for him to do except sit and wait to see if Dean can get past this part. Dean being an angel plays no part in how Castiel feels for him, but apparently Castiel being a human affects how Dean feels.

It's disappointing. A few hours ago they were on the verge of _more_ and now he feels like he's grasping at thin air. What he was reaching for was pulled away so sharply and he feels so _alone_. Dean wants more, Dean wants _him_ , and Castiel knows this. They were so _close_ and now he has no idea if Dean will even try to adjust how he treats him.

Being upset right now would be so much easier if he could place all the blame on Dean. But Castiel can't do that. He's very much aware that none of this would have happened if he hadn't lied, if he hadn't gone behind Dean's back. But whether he lied or not, Dean would still be thinking that Castiel is fragile and weak. That wouldn't change and it would likely come to light in the future and possibly at an even more inopportune time.

Maybe it's a _good_ thing, no matter how much it hurts, that they get this out of the way now. If this is what stops them from advancing in their relationship now, then it never would have worked between them regardless of everything else. Even their friendship is going to suffer from this. No matter how he tries to look at it, losing Dean is _not_ a good thing.

Castiel sighs and drops his forehead to his knees. Without realizing it, his thoughts returned without his consent, making themselves at home in his mind. They're dancing, spinning round and round and making him dizzy. Why can't he just _not_ think for a while? Why can't he be allowed to forget about the apocalypse and all the monsters, about the angels and demons and all his duties to the Church?

He lifts his head sharply at the quiet knock. “Cassie? If you want to come out now, they're gone.”

It still takes him a few minutes to get up and Castiel changes into his pajamas before he leaves his bedroom with the pencil in one hand and his cell phone in the other. Balthazar stops at the basement door and he has both the duffle bags with him.

“I'm going to put this stuff away. Are you – What are you doing?”

Castiel ignores him as he draws the same markings along the edge of the window of the back door. Balthazar sighs but thankfully says nothing more before he heads down the stairs. He doesn't stop and think about how he's barring both Dean _and_ Sam from the only other home they have outside of heaven. It might be a rather strict punishment – one that Sam doesn't deserve – but Castiel doesn't want Dean dropping in unexpectedly when nothing is _right_ between them at the moment.

Despite having put on his bed clothes, or how tired he feels, Castiel doesn't want to go to sleep. He starts up the coffee maker with his usual store-bought grind, spitefully shoving the expensive brand to the back of the cupboard. While that bubbles and putters away, Castiel flips open his phone and types out a few quick message to Sam. The first is nothing more than an apology for any difficulties Dean might give him for going along with his lie, and a warning that the rectory has full angel warding now.

                _I'm sorry. If I could think of another way to get across to Dean that he can't decide things for me, I would do it. I don't want to keep you out too._

Sam takes a while to answer. The message comes while Castiel is making himself comfortable in the chair at the end of his bed with a steaming mug of coffee and a book. Balthazar is crashing around in the basement and if he doesn't join Castiel in his bedroom to read or talk, then he'll likely go to bed soon.

                _He's kind of giving me the silent treatment right now. Don't worry about the warding, I understand. If I thought the lying was a bad idea, I wouldn't have gone through with it._

_I'll try and get Dean to understand, but I can't make any promises. He's pretty upset._

_Stay safe, Cas._

His last message to Sam returns the sentiment in kind. Castiel uses his book to distract himself from the repetitive thoughts that keep returning. It does a good job and he gets most of the way through his cup of coffee before Balthazar leans around the door frame. He's been surprisingly quiet about the fight with Dean, which is quite a bit less than Castiel would have expected to hear from him by now.

“Are you going to sleep tonight, Cassie?”

“I might.”

He wavers before taking a step into the room. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine.”

“You kicked your angels out completely. I wouldn't say you're ' _fine_ '.”

“I just said it.” Castiel shrugs and looks back down at his book, flipping a page. “There's nothing more I can do if Dean is incapable of seeing me as anything other than something easily breakable. I may be human and I'm certainly not invincible, but he can't treat me like I'm made of glass and get upset whenever I want to leave the house or help on a hunt.” He curls his fingers tightly around his coffee mug. “He’s not invincible either and I worry about him too. But I don’t try to stop him from leaving. I don’t ask him to stay or keep him from doing what he came here to do. I just want him to show me the same courtesy.”

“I know, Cassie. Believe me, I know.” Balthazar sighs and crosses the room. He sits on the edge of the bed for a moment before he twists and flops back against the pillow. “It's normal to worry about someone you love.”

His hard stare is enough for Balthazar to know not to continue down the road he’s taking. He waves a hand to brush it off. “Don't get me wrong, I'm all for you and that bastard keeping each other at arm's length. I’m not trying to convince you he wasn’t doing anything wrong. But I can see where he's coming from. I was almost in the same place when you announced to Bobby that you wanted to be a hunter. Did you know that I was against it and Bobby had to talk me into it?”

“No, I didn't.”

“You were going places, Cassie. You were in school and about to start seminary and move on to be a right proper priest.” He sits up and crosses his legs. “I thought it was a ridiculous idea for you to give up all that to become a hunter. It was too dangerous and I didn't want you to waste you life on revenge. Bobby had to sit me down and explain that he wasn't letting you quit everything else.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and looks down at his book again. “I was never going to quit. All I wanted was the knowledge and the skills to be able to help people.”

“Well I know that _now_.” Balthazar snorts and leans back on his hands, head tilted to one side. He’s quiet for all of a minute. “You're going to ask me to leave soon, aren't you? Kick me out into the cold with Christmas only a few weeks away. How mean of you, Cassie.”

“You can stay as long as you like. You're my brother and I would never turn you out.” He pauses to take a sip of his coffee. “But you staying around is just playing into Dean being overprotective. Instead of him keeping an eye on me, it's you and I don't need a babysitter.”

“In case you forgot, you twit, you were _stabbed_. I nearly lost my baby brother. Forgive me for wanting to spend a little more time with him than usual.”

Castiel graces him with a smile, even if it is a small one that doesn't feel right. It's like a puzzle piece that doesn't quite fit the rest of his face. Even though he appreciates Balthazar's sentiment and understands it, smiling is something Castiel just doesn't feel like doing right now. It earns him another huff and Balthazar swings his legs off the bed, getting to his feet in one graceful slide.

“To be honest, I've been going as stir crazy as you have. I need the open road and some goddamn sunshine. I think I'll head south for a few weeks and come back for Christmas. It'll give you a little privacy to work out whatever the hell you're going to do with that angel of yours.”

“He's not my angel.” He tries to keep away the bitter thoughts that whisper how he almost was.

“Tell that to the neon sign you left on his shoulder. _'Castiel's! Hands off!'_ You couldn't have made it any clearer if you'd tattooed it instead.”

“You should be aware that I am not above throwing my book at you.”

Balthazar retreats from the room with his hands raised in surrender. “Try and get some actual sleep tonight, Cassie. Healed or not, we both saw a sliver of hell earlier and I'm going to have a good stiff drink before I hit the hay. You could probably do with one too.”

“It'll only make me dream of the orphanage.” He shakes his head and lifts his coffee mug. “I'll make do with this, thanks. Good night.”

Despite that, Castiel falls asleep in his chair with his feet tucked against the armrest, his empty coffee mug on the floor and his book held loosely in his hand. His dreams aren't nightmares, but he doesn't feel any more rested than if he had stayed up. He reheats the coffee in the pot as he makes breakfast and leaves half of it in the pan for Balthazar when he wakes up – which isn't before Castiel leaves for mass.

Balthazar is fully dressed and sitting at the kitchen table when Castiel returns. “One of these days you need to get a TV, Cassie. Or at least some wifi. I'm bored out of my wits half the time.”

“Then it's a good think you're leaving soon.” He shrugs and starts putting away the dishes, slightly surprised that Balthazar actually washed them. Silently he adds a TV to the list of possible Christmas gifts he could get for him. It gets marked with a 'maybe', since it would be something that he would get more enjoyment from than Balthazar would. “Do you know when you're leaving?”

“I knew it! You can't wait to get rid of me. I'm wounded, Cassie. Truly, I am.” Balthazar leans back in his chair dramatically, a hand held to his forehead for a moment before he lets out a loud laugh. “A few days. I just need to get my things in order and figure out what I'm stealing from you. Oh, and I'll need to find my next job. Can I use your computer?”

Castiel shrugs and gestures at the door to his office. He can save all his work for later, maybe when afternoon mass is done. For now, he’d like to continue the book he was reading last night. As long as he keeps his mind occupied, then he won’t have to think about Dean or what happened last night. There’s nothing for him to do except wait to see what Dean will do.

That proves a difficult task. Over the few days before Balthazar leaves and after, Castiel continues to be drawn to his phone. Several times he’s caught himself typing out a message to Dean, just to find out how he’s doing, or to tell him about the books he’s been reading, or to ask if he’s watched anything interesting lately. On the night they set up the Christmas tree and decorate the rectory, Castiel nearly sends a request to Dean and Sam to come help.

Even after Balthazar is gone it takes Castiel a few days to stop making too much food during his meals. The quiet is peaceful, but at the same time oddly unsettling. Castiel got too used to having at least Balthazar here. Adjusting to being alone again was never a problem he had before. At least he keeps himself busy with preparing for all the Church funded events that are going to be held in the days leading up to Christmas. And there’s the research project he started during a night when he woke up from a hellish dream caught between the orphanage fire and hellhounds.

To Castiel’s knowledge, Dean and Sam don’t have a way to track Alistair, Lilith or Azazel. They rely on bad luck to find them and they’re usually at a disadvantage. In an effort to keep his mind off the nightmare, Castiel started looking up ways to find them. Most demons leave behind hints of sulfur when they’ve been some place and there are sometimes meteorological changes influenced by their presence.

He starts with looking for unusual recordings in the atmosphere around his home when Alistair had been here and the same for when Lilith had been at The Devil’s Gate. Anything that seems remotely interesting gets printed and tacked to the walls of the basement stairs. There’s a map there too now, with coloured pins to mark possible locations – some even confirmed by Sam, though Castiel hasn’t told him about this project.

The only one he has trouble tracking is Azazel. It takes more in depth research and searching through databases of missing persons for Ava, Lauren, and their male companions that were here the night he was stabbed. He would try searching for Ruby too, but he has no idea what she looks like. Once they’re found, it’s just a matter of looking up strange weather phenomenon in their home towns either around when they went missing or further back in their lifetime.

Castiel reserves that project for the sleepless nights. His days are spent running mass, the hunter’s phone, and handling the Church events. The first is almost two weeks before Christmas and it’s one of the few times Castiel leaves the rectory for longer than a trip to the grocery store or the Laundromat.

No matter where he goes or what he’s doing, Castiel wears the holy fire-burned glasses and carries on his person his usual gun in addition to a knife, holy water and salt. The layers he wears for winter, sweaters and the like, make it easier to hide them. It’s tiring to constantly be on his guard, but he prefers being wary of everyone rather than feel the bite of another blade in his skin. He never stays away from the rectory longer than he needs to and not once on any of his outings has he seen a demon or an angel.

The most exciting thing that happens to him during those few weeks is at a bake sale. Castiel refuses to admit that baking alone - when he could have had so much more help, and more fun - was tedious. Most of his pastries aren’t up to his high standards, but his apple pie - Dean’s favourite - turns out as good as it ever does and on a whim he labels it as a ‘heavenly’ pie on the table card. It has no meaning to anyone else, but it makes him smile whenever someone buys a slice.

Though Castiel doesn’t hear from Dean in those weeks, he and Sam still talk. Sam drops in for a few minutes every other day and at least twice a week. They have short conversations at the back door as Sam drops off books or little things he’s collected for his shelf and picks up a change of clothes for both him and Dean. Whenever he gives something back to go in the drawers, they’re already meticulously clean and folded perfectly.

Even with Sam’s visits, Castiel feels lonely. He talks to Balthazar over the phone just as much as he does Sam, but there’s something missing and Castiel knows what – knows _who –_ it is. It’s an ache that surpasses the physical, going beyond muscle, tissue and bone. The empty feeling in his chest makes it hard to get up in the mornings and difficult to go to sleep at night.

It seems that Dean is just as stubborn as Castiel, but hearing _nothing_ from him for a few weeks leaves Castiel wondering if Dean has given up. Is it only a matter of time before Dean shows up at his door and asks to remove this bond they made between them?

Thoughts like that don’t stop him from spending hours searching for the perfect Christmas gift for Dean. Sam’s was easy to decide and Castiel already has it wrapped and under the Christmas tree. Balthazar’s present was a little harder to find, but there is a long standing tradition that Castiel buys him the oldest and most expensive brandy in the county. He usually gets that and something a little more personal too – something Balthazar wants but won’t get for himself. This year is a leather jacket he’d taken to pointing out every time he came across it in the flyers from the daily newspaper.

Dean’s present is, of course, the hardest. It has to be perfect. Whether or not they mend their friendship (at the very least) before Christmas, he still cares for Dean much more than that and he wants something _just right_ to give him. Something that Dean will love, and perhaps convince him to take that step and work at not being so oppressively protective.

When he finally makes the last call that secures the purchase of the gift, it’s only a few days before Christmas. He leaves calling Balthazar to arrange picking up Dean’s gift for when afternoon mass is done. It’s not long before it starts and he makes a quick sandwich since he skipped lunch. Part way through his small meal, Castiel gets up from the table and gets a damp cloth. He scrubs the penciled angel warding symbols from the back door.

A few weeks is more than enough time to keep them out. He and Dean can’t work towards fixing what is wrong between them if he won’t even let him come here. Later, after he speaks with Balthazar, Castiel decides he’ll text Sam and let him know that the warding is gone. For now, he has mass to attend to.

Castiel has taken to greeting his parishioners on the steps, the glasses in place as he watches for any demons or angels who might attempt to harm them to get to him, and through him Dean and Sam. He does the same when everyone leaves, even going as far as walking some of the more elderly of the congregation to their cars.

Thankfully he’s seen no creatures yet. There have been some new faces during sermons over the last few weeks, but everyone always seems to be with here with someone he knows. Rather than assume them to be working for Azazel, Castiel chooses to believe that they’re simply here with family or friends during the Christmas season. But that doesn’t mean he’s any less wary of them. He tries very hard to never turn his back to anyone whose name he doesn’t know or he doesn’t recognize.

With only a few days before Christmas, there are a lot of visiting family and friends. Mass has become exhausting. Castiel is always watching, always ready to defend or strike if need be. And unlike everyone else, he doesn’t get to rest on Christmas. The Church is always open and he has to be ready to give counsel or shelter or any number of things. At least he won’t be alone for it.

While cleaning the pews and organizing the Bibles, Castiel takes out his phone and calls Balthazar to arrange for him to pick up Dean’s gift. If he is where he’s supposed to be, then he won’t be going out of his way to get it.

“Please tell me you’re joking.” Balthazar groans and the phone line crackles with the sound. “How am I even going to – I can’t fit that in my damn car, Cassie!”

“I’ll text Sam. He’ll help you.”

“Speaking of angels – It’s been a few weeks. Have either of you actually talked yet? I’ve got a bet running over who’s going to crack first.”

He sighs and slumps into one of the pews, raising a hand to rub at his forehead. Every time they talk Balthazar somehow brings the conversation back to Dean. Castiel hates talking about the fight and being reminded that Dean hasn’t even sent him a single message. The updates on Dean’s moods that Castiel gets from Sam are of little comfort. As much as he enjoys his little conversations with Sam, it’s just not the same as actually speaking with Dean.

“Who would you even make a bet with?”

“Myself, obviously.” Balthazar almost sounds insulted. “If you fold first, I’ll treat myself to a bottle of whiskey. If it’s Dean, a bottle of scotch.”

He sits back and stares up at the crossbeams that make up the Church ceiling. “That’s hardly a bet. You win either way.”

“That’s the best kind of bet, Cassie.” A laugh echoes around his words before Balthazar’s voice turns uncharacteristically serious. “Have you considered asking him to remove the mark on your soul? If anything gets you two talking again, that’ll be it. And if you’re lucky, he might actually do it!”

“But I don’t want him to do that.” Castiel closes his eyes and places a hand over his sternum. He doesn’t bear a physical mark like Dean does, but this is where Dean touched him and it’s the closest place he has to what he carries on his soul.

Balthazar’s sigh crackles over the line. “Yes, we’re all very much aware of how much it doesn’t affect you that you’re carrying around a great big _Property of Dean_ sign. But if you tell that to the bastard, it might just force him to realize that if he doesn’t want to _try_ then you’re done. You can’t just shut him out and expect him to learn, Cassie. You have to try too.”

“I know, and I am.” He reaches forward to grab the back of the pew in front of him, using it to pull himself to his feet. “I cleaned the warding off before mass and when I ask Sam to help you with Dean’s gift, I’ll let him know that he and Dean are invited to Christmas.”

“And that means I’m getting myself a bottle of whiskey tonight. Thank you, Cassie.”

That brings a smile to his lips as he locks the Church doors and puts up a sign to ring a bell for service. It’s the safest way to make sure none of Azazel’s human puppets can sneak up on him in his own home through the open doors of the Church. “Would you have preferred the scotch? Technically speaking – I’ll be talking to Sam, not Dean.”

“Then you’ll have to keep me informed.”

“I will.”

“Good. Now eat something and get some sleep.”

Only Balthazar ever manages to make Castiel roll his eyes _fondly_. “I will. Drive safe and I’ll see you in a few days.”

He locks the door leading to his office too and listens to Balthazar’s short, familiar, rant about how he hates driving in the snow and that Castiel needs to move to a warmer climate. The only door Castiel doesn’t lock is the one between his office and the kitchen. He goes back and forth between them too often for that.

In hindsight, he should have locked it.

The call with Balthazar is just ended, Castiel’s thumb still on the button that terminated it. He’s only a few feet into the kitchen when he sees the message on the fridge. The papers and magnets that had been stuck to it are scattered across the floor, replaced by red lettering written in what is likely lipstick.

_Should have stayed out of it._

Castiel barely gets to read the message before a loud noise deafens him. Pain sears through his back and he staggers forward like someone shoved him. It doesn’t hit him that the sound was a gunshot until the second one sends him to his knees. The pain fades to a dull throb within moments, the world going black around the edges faster than it ever has before.

He finds himself struggling to breathe against the cold linoleum of his kitchen floor. It’s too hard, like he’s a lung short. His back feels wet and it burns, but it’s not the same stinging pain when he was stabbed. This is different, this hurts but it doesn’t and everything is getting so fuzzy so quickly.

Some jeans and a set of runners step into his light of sight and Castiel barely notices them. The office. The attack came from the office – but how? No one had been in there when he – oh. Under the desk. He should have checked under the desk. Someone could have – while he was seeing everyone off at the door, they could have sneaked away from the group. Stupid – so _stupid_. He should have checked.

“Sorry big guy.” The voice is feminine, familiar. He’s heard it before. “This is between us and your angels, and they’re really starting to piss off my boss.” A hand pats the back of his head. “Enjoy heaven. I hear it’s nice.”

Castiel coughs her name and it comes out wet and garbled. “ _Ruby_.”

“Aw, you remember me. I’m flattered.” She tilts her head into his field of vision, black hair spilling over her shoulder. She doesn’t look anything like the nightmares he’s had since she stabbed him. “You know, I’ve never had to kill someone _twice._ Consider yourself special. Too bad your angels aren’t around to save you this time.” Her hand falls on his shoulder again. “See ya never, Padre.”

She leaves the back door open behind her and Castiel doesn’t even feel the cold. He can feel the breeze on his cheek, but it’s not chill like he knows it should be. Castiel’s vision blurs and he’s not sure if it’s tears. He doesn’t care – caring is beyond him now. His limbs feel heavy and he barely manages to bring his arm up. The blood soaked into his sleeve smears a wet streak on the linoleum, trying hard to focus on the phone still open and held in his hand.

Castiel isn’t sure if he pressed the right buttons. He’s not even sure if it’s ringing. There’s someone in the doorway and even if he could see, he knows he wouldn’t recognize them. He knows who – what – it is. _Not yet. Please, not yet._

There’s no sharp breath at the voice he hasn’t heard in weeks when it comes from the phone, tinny and distant. He doesn’t have the strength to take one. Dean’s name tastes like blood and Castiel closes his eyes to the wrinkled old man who kneels next to him. The hand on his shoulder is warm and welcoming and Castiel sinks into it when the dark swallows everything else.

 x

Some days it feels like they’re never going to find Him. They could walk through the Appalachian Mountains or the bottom of the Great Barrier Reef and the amulet around Dean’s neck will probably never respond. Even walking in the holiest places on Earth gets no reaction and every day chips away at Dean’s hope.

Dean knows Sam never believed in this quest.  He came along because he was with Dean when they found those human souls listening in on angel radio. He came along because he wanted out of heaven – to get away from everything. Dean never said anything about it. Finding God is a mission he could have done on his own, but he didn’t want be alone.

Today they’re trying for normal places. It’s not that they haven’t tried it before, but there are so many marketplaces, play grounds and downtowns that it feels like every day is just a drop in the bucket. If it ever manages to amount to something, it might be too late. But as long as Dean is still folded into this vessel, he’s going to keep fighting and looking and hoping. It’s all he can do since he found something here worth fighting for.

Finding God to stop the apocalypse was always the plan. But between when he took the amulet from Cas and when he showed up a few months later with Sam bleeding in his arms, he’d lost that drive. It had been sucked out of him with seals they weren’t fast enough to save and an endless march from country to country trying to find someone who never should have left in the first place.

Dean never really planned on seeing Cas again until he had to return the amulet. He never planned on spending time with him, or talking with him – never planned on learning and laughing and discovering all the little things that make Cas tick only to find out the next day that there’s more. He never planned on Cas filling the cracks in his Grace from all the millennia of being a good little soldier, a model son because he wanted to make God proud – even though he’s never seen His face. He – and all his siblings – gave a lifetime of service only to have their Father fuck off right before they needed Him the most.

Days and months are barely anything to bat an eye at for an angel, but being in a vessel changes that and those changes weigh on Dean. The longer they’re looking for Him, the heavier Dean feels. It should worry him that most of that weight is from this _urge_ tugging at his insides, demanding to return to that little Church just ten minutes outside Flanagan, Illinois – to return to _Cas_. But it doesn’t bother him. Cas – with his small smiles that start in his eyes before they pull up one corner of his mouth at a time – is worth all of this. He’s worth the endless hours of walking and flying and fighting and bleeding.

And now Dean’s gone and – as Balthazar said – ‘screwed the pooch’. It’s been a little over a week since the seal with the hellhounds, since the night Cas put up the wards to keep him out. He tries not to think about it, tries to focus on what he originally came here to do. Dean’s defying heaven to stop the apocalypse and find God, not to put his claim on a _human soul_ and – God, help him – let a human do the same to his grace. Sam still gives him weird looks for that and it might be because Dean can’t stop touching his shoulder when they’re not moving – not since Cas gave him the boot.

It would be easier to be angry if Cas wasn’t _right_.

“Dean.” Sam’s hand closes on his elbow and Dean looks up from watching the sidewalk. He’s pointing across the park they’re walking through and for the first time since they flapped here, Dean pulls himself tightly into his vessel and pays attention to his senses.

The first thing he hears is crying. Sam’s pointing at a little boy sitting on the edge of the sandbox. A pang of sympathy flashes through Dean’s grace when he sees the skinned knees. His eyes tell him more than most would see – Donnie Blake, aged six and three-quarters, lives in the blue house on the corner visible from the park, parents divorced when he was two, father remarried, mother living hours away. Dean blinks the information away. He keeps a filter up when he’s with Cas because he knows Cas would hate him seeing more than he wants to share, but out in the world is a whole different kettle of fish.

“I’m going to help him.”

Of course he is. Sam’s got just as big a heart as Cas does.

“I wanna help him too – but the moment you heal him, we’re going to have to run again. Vaniah’s watching for a flare up and he’ll be on our asses before his tears even start to dry.” Dean runs a hand through his hair and glances at the sniffling kid. He’s sick of running, but how the hell is he actually supposed to say ‘no’ when Sam’s giving him the puppy eyes and there’s a kid crying and – “Fuck, fine. We’ll go back to the room. Let’s do this quick.”

Dean flexes his wings, spreading them and watching over the rest of the park as Sam crosses the playground and crouches in front of the kid. He even pulls a tissue from his pocket and hands it to him, ruffling his hair. Sam doesn’t even have to touch the kid’s knees to heal him. The hand in his hair is enough for the rush of grace to work its magic and the kid stops crying almost immediately, staring down at his legs before looking up at Sam with wide eyes.

Warning knits itself into Dean’s grace, trembling along his spine. He doesn’t need to look to know that Vaniah’s already here and he’s not alone. The kid looks to Dean when he steps up behind Sam and puts a hand on his shoulder. Dean winks and puts a finger to his lips before he spreads his wings, stretching them wide in the space between worlds. He pulls Sam with him as they bleed through time and distance to land in a rundown shit hole of a one bedroom apartment on the outskirts of Dodoma, Tanzania. It’s as far as Dean was willing to go to set up a temporary HQ that wasn’t Cas’s place.

The building was abandoned years ago, but it’s still got running water and working cable – not that they need the water. They don’t even use the two single beds they found – kid sized by the looks of it. The beaten up hunk of metal and fabric that used to be a couch has a fold out bed in it, but Dean doesn’t even bother with attempting to open it. They don’t need to sleep and it’s not like they need something comfortable to sit on – they could stand and never feel tired if they wanted.

The only thing they’ve done to redecorate is to paint the walls in the blood of their vessels, symbol beside symbol beside symbol of anything they could think of that would ward this place to cover their tracks. Dean’s more than a little tired of looking at the cracked, peeling wallpaper and the water damage in the ceiling. He misses Cas’s house. It’s always clean, and maintained, and it smelled like food and Cas and everything _good_.

When his cell phone isn’t a dead weight in his pocket, Dean usually leaves it on top of the TV. It’s something to stare at (or glare at, if he takes Sam’s word on it) when his attention drifts from whatever show he’s managed to get playing. He’s rescued a DVD player from somewhere in the last week and Sam found a couple seasons of Dr. Sexy for him, but he hasn’t even started on those yet. There’s been no motivation, no drive to do anything – not even what he’s supposed to be doing.

“If you’re so bothered by Cas’s cold shoulder, you could always get off your ass and go _apologize._ ”

And there’s Sam’s almost daily lecture. Dean’s got it memorized now. He’ll rant at him for a while about how damaging it is that he’s overprotective of Cas and how it’s okay to want him to be safe, but – “ – there’s a limit, Dean. You can’t expect him to stay holed away in the rectory forever when he’s just as much a fighter as we are.”

If Dean was any more immature, he might even mouth along.

“You’re broadcasting your thoughts, you jerk.” Sam hisses and Dean would smile – but he hasn’t felt like doing that in a week. “You and Cas could be making out and have a grand ol’ gay time right now if you’d just grow a pair, admit you don’t think he’s weak, and say you were _wrong_.”

“It’s wrong that I want to keep him safe?” Dean doesn’t look away from the TV even though it’s on a stupid infomercial about some miraculous hair removal product that probably doesn’t work as advertised. Cas had warned him that it’s a hit and miss most of the time.

“There’s a difference in wanting him to be safe and wanting to control him, Dean. You lost this the moment you told him he _shouldn’t_ hunt. He doesn’t need your _permission_ to do anything.”

Dean shouldn’t say what he does next, but he does and he regrets it the moment the words are out there. “Maybe I just don’t want to lose him like you did Jasiel.”

That’s half the reason Sam wanted out of heaven. He needed a break after Jasiel never came back from her garrison’s foray into holding back a hell breach. They never talk about it, but Dean’s pretty sure Sam was on the verge of asking her to be his mate. Which is why Dean knows he went too far when Sam’s wings flare to fill the room and his grace fucking _seethes_ through the feathers. He’s gone before Dean can apologize. Sam usually leaves once a day, just to stretch his wings for an hour or two if they’re not searching or fighting. Right now Dean doesn’t know when he’ll be back. Maybe he’s going to go see Cas and sit outside on the back step and complain to him about what a fucking _dumbass_ Dean is.  

The last thing he wants to do is _control_ Cas. A good chunk of why Dean thinks he’s so awesome is in Cas’s strength of will. Demons and angels want to use him as some kind of pawn to get at Dean and Cas isn’t taking any of their shit. He’s not taking Dean’s either, which is good – but at the same time it sucks. Dean doesn’t think he’s weak, but Cas _is_ fragile. Compared to angels, all humans are. They’re so small and breakable, and it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if Dean could see him in heaven, but he _can’t_. He might never be allowed back if he doesn’t find God.

But Cas didn’t give him the time to explain that. He’d shut down and kicked him out and Dean knows he fucked up and he should go back or call him up and just tell him that he doesn’t want to see Cas hurt. He knows that, but he can’t. He locks up whenever he reaches for the phone and it feels like his mind switches off if he even thinks about trying to put into words this burning mix of _feelings_ he’s not even supposed to have.

Maybe it’s a side effect from being in a vessel for longer than he should, but all these emotions are driving him up the wall. Love, joy, sadness, even anger – those are the basics. All angels feel them. But worry? Desire? The whole kit and caboodle of the seven deadly sins? The whole supposed ‘dark side’ to humanity that most Churches call out as evils?

He’s not supposed to be capable of feeling any of that. But he _is_. Whenever he’s around Cas his grace fills with this heady _rush_. It feels like that sense of freedom he knows he’d get if he ditched his vessel and unfolded his true form – but still _different_. Different in a way that Dean doesn’t know a word for – and he knows _all_ the words in every fucking language.

It takes two days for Sam to come back. Even then he only plunks himself down on the other end of the couch with a book he got from some long forgotten tomb by the smell of it. Dean hasn’t moved since he left. He’s let himself disconnect from his vessel and set his mind drifting. There’s always so much time for thinking and he’s never really been one for that. Action is where it’s at. He’d rather be out smiting demons than sitting here hoping for news about a seal – or thinking about Cas.

Before he’d gone back to Cas, before he’d gotten to _know_ him, Dean had spent his time in between the seals and the search learning what it’s like to be human. He didn’t learn much aside from how really fucking awesome sex is. Cas taught him the rest – the important stuff. Cas taught him how to _live_. There’s a direct correlation somewhere in there with when he stopped sleeping with the first warm body to give him a once over and when he started to actually _feel_ for Cas.

Exactly seven hours and forty-three minutes after Sam comes back, Dean turns off the TV but doesn’t look away from it. “He lied to me. You both did.”

“You’re the one who made it necessary for us to have to resort to it.”

“If he’d insisted, I would’ve been okay with him going.” Dean looks down at his lap, slotting himself back into his vessel enough to curl the fingers against his thigh. “I didn’t want him to be there, but if it’s what he wanted to do he should’ve just said so. I know he’s a good hunter. The first time we met he didn’t know what I was when I blew into the Church and he didn’t even flinch. He’s smart, resourceful – well, you saw the shit they came up with at The Devil’s Gate. I know he can handle himself.”

Sam closes the book and Dean can feel his eyes on him. “Why didn’t you – why _haven’t_ you – told all that to Cas?”

Dean shrugs and leans his cheek against his fist, elbow propped against the armrest. “I was pissed. Cas got hurt and I don’t like seeing him hurt – especially not after he got stabbed. And then everyone had lied to me and Cas was accusing me of all that untrue shit and I just – I snapped. He’s human, so he _is_ fragile. You can’t disagree on that. But it doesn’t mean I believe the rest of that crap.”

“I repeat – why haven’t you told that to Cas?”

He shrugs again and ducks forward to avoid the slap Sam tries to give him to the back of his head. “What the hell, Sam?”

“You’re a fucking idiot. Get over yourself, go to his place, and _tell him_. Tell him before he decides you’re not worth waiting for and he calls up wanting to get the claims reversed.”

Dean’s hand immediately goes to his shoulder, pressing down through two layers of shirt against the raised handprint he can feel. He remembers that rippling electricity that had surged through his grace when Cas had touched it after they both woke up. It was the charged burn of Cas’s soul connecting with his grace and it’s the only way Cas is ever going to be able to touch _him_ instead of just the vessel he’s wearing like a stupidly attractive suit. Sometimes he’s bitter about it, and sometimes he’s thankful for it. He’d rather not risk burning Cas’s eyes out with attempting some kind of experiment to see if he could touch him in his true form.

The only thing that gets him up from the couch to grab his phone is when a voice rings clear through both their heads with a location, a time, and a seal. Dean doesn’t pay much attention to what’shappening when they arrive. All he cares about is the black eyed bastards standing around an altar, each of them holding a chicken and a rabbit. He narrows his world down to one thing and one thing only – smiting anyone with a twisted, hideous face.

Sometimes he hates being able to see what they really are under the skin of their meat suit. Even touching a demon through its stolen vessel makes his grace shiver in disgust. It feels even worse to touch their smoke forms and it’s all Dean can do some days not to gag at it whenever he forces a demon to stay within the meat suit for him to smite it.

The number of casualties afterward, the burned out husk of humans, never leaves him feeling very good afterward. They never asked to be a part of this – they were kidnapped by the demon hiding in their bones and there’s nothing Dean can do to save them. One less demon in the world shouldn’t be worth someone else’s life.

A half dozen smitings later, Dean realizes each and every demon had a stupid little twist to their mouths right before he burned them out. Sam’s busy with kicking the shit out of the altar and tearing everything apart, so he’s not seeing it. All it takes is stretching his wing out and knocking it against Sam’s to catch his attention. Dean trips up one demon who actually tries making a run for it while he throws his sword, not even watching it sink into the chest of another demon.

“Sammy, is it just me or are these bastards laughing at me?”

He looks over just in time for Dean to bend down and lay his hand over the back of the neck of the demon he’d tripped. Dean gestures at her for Sam to see. Sam sighs and stops with his foot raised against what kind of looks like the bottom half of a pedestal.

The bitch has the gall to only _glance_ before answering. “It’s just you.”

Dean’s about to burn the demon out when he realizes that she’s the last one. He holds off on smiting her until Sam’s done and maybe he’s more than a little smug when he turns around and honestly looks surprised that she’s still alive. “I think it’s high time we had a little chat with one of them, don’t y’think, Sammy?” He grins and pats the demon on the shoulder. “Maybe she’ll share her super secret recipe for fudge brownies à la mode.”

“You’ve already lost.” She spits instead, twisting to look up over her shoulder at him. “You’ve got heaven and hell gunning for the apocalypse and you’re still trying to stop it? You poor delusional bastards. You’ll learn eventually that you can’t win.”

Sam’s eyes go cold and his wings spread dangerously. He may not be all gung ho on the search for God, but he’s here with Dean one hundred percent. Heaven only wants the apocalypse because it’s ‘what was written’. Dad fucked off but He left things to do and the apocalypse is next on the list. Michael and Lucifer just have to have their shake down, damn the rest of the world and all its humans because _they don’t matter_.

But Dean _knows_ they’re losing. There’s six hundred and sixty six seals to break and for every one that he and Sam save, there’s another five lost. Every day is just another step closer to the apocalypse and no matter how hard he tries, it’s an uphill battle and Dean’s standing in the loser’s circle before he’s even started. Their only deus ex machina is God and He’s playing one hell of a Where’s Waldo game with them. Dean got a bad hand dealt to him from the get go but it’s not just his ass on the line. Sam and Cas are right there too and there’s no way Dean’s giving up without a _fight_.

The snide comment he’s got backing up the snarl on his lips dies before Dean gives it voice. Apparently the hell-bitch isn’t done yet because now she’s actually _grinning_ at him. “That’s what happens when you choose to side with _humans_. Their lives are so short and useless, what’s the point in having an _interest_ in _one_?” She’s too pointed with her words. Emphasizing the wrong ones. Her smile only gets bigger, demented behind the skin of the meat suit. “What’s it like laying a claim on something that can be so easily _broken_?”

Dean’s wings react before the rest of him does, snapping out as wide as they can go while his grace blazes through his hand. The demon screams as she burns in her stolen vessel. Sam can deal with the clean up or he can just leave them to be found. He doesn’t care. She was talking about _Cas_. There’s a rising panic singing through Dean’s grace and getting to his destination within seconds of leaving Sam doesn’t feel fast enough. It only took them a moment to stab Cas before when Dean’s back was turned, who knows what they could have done to him while he’s not there at all.

He can feel the push of the symbols against his grace. From his vantage point outside the kitchen window over the sink, his eyes can see them glowing blue against the wood of the back door. They almost blend in with the multicoloured bulbs of light circling the door and windows on the outside of the house. Dean’s sigh of relief mists in front of his face. Cas is fine. He’s sitting at the table with a book propped open on the other side of his plate while he eats what’s probably a really late supper. Just seeing Cas feels good, even though something deep in his grace aches.

They’d been so close – so fucking _close_ and within a few hours everything went to shit. Sure, most of the blame is on Dean, but Cas shouldn’t have lied to him either. Still, he can’t be mad at him. He was for maybe a day, but then _want_ started to creep in. The want to text Cas, to call him, to see him, to talk to him and just be _near_ him. Dean didn’t used to want things. It’s something he’s learned here. Wants and desires – angels don’t really have them.

Cas lifts his head and puts down his fork to pick up his phone. Dean watches him read a message and type out an answer. He’s well aware that there are certain people who would call him a creeper for this, but it’s not like he’s being a pervert or anything. A threat was made and he only came to make sure nothing bad was happening to Cas.

The air shifts as Sam lands behind Dean, his feathers rustling while his wings fold against his back. “I texted him. He says he’s fine and asked how we’re doing. What should I tell him?”

Dean shrugs and that ache gets worse. It makes him feel – sick? Is this what sick feels like? It’s like there’s a raw wound inside him, gaping and empty. His chest hurts more than his stomach does and that’s pretty damn concerning considering his vessel shouldn’t be feeling like that – or he should at least not be able to feel it in his very being. Maybe he’s too closely stitched to his vessel and he needs to pull back for a bit to remember this isn’t his body.

His wings sag, the pinions and the secondaries slipping into the snow under his feet. “I miss this place.” Right now, Dean doesn’t even care if that’s the answer Sam sends back. “I miss our coffee mugs, the food, and our stuff – the feeling of having a _home_.” He raises his hand to his shoulder again and squeezes the mark.

Sam’s voice goes soft and his fingers curl over Dean’s other shoulder. “Him?”

Like he really needs to say it. The answer is in his wings and how they wrap around his vessel, trying to keep out the rest of the world. Sam takes them back to the dingy apartment and that sick feeling in Dean gets worse the moment he sits down on the couch. Even his grace is upset, shifting and spilling through his vessel like it hasn’t done since he first took it. Sam doesn’t sit down. Instead he paces back and forth in front of the couch for a minute before stopping in front of Dean.

“That could have been a trap, you know.” He doesn’t wait for Dean to answer. “Angels or demons could have been waiting outside Cas’s place, waiting for someone to make you think Cas was in danger just so you’d show up and they could have gotten the drop on us.”

Dean doesn’t move, doesn’t answer. Trap or not, it doesn’t matter. He’d run in anyways just to make sure Cas was safe and Sam would be right behind him. With an explosive sigh, Sam drops onto the couch too. He stretches out his legs – stupidly long, in Dean’s opinion – and runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

Sometimes it’s nice that Sam knows him well enough to get what the silence means.

He spends an hour at most not even watching what’s on the TV screen before he stands up again. “I’m going to go distract them from Cas.”

What that demon said is itching at him, like his vessel doesn’t fit comfortably anymore. Dean can’t shake the feeling that if he doesn’t do something to keep them off Cas, he’s going to take a hit again and they won’t be there in time to help him. He could be there now, or more often, or permanently, if he’d just do what Sam’s raised eyebrow and thinned lips are telling him he should do. Apologize and explain himself. And he wants to, he _does_ , but something’s keeping him back.

They split up, setting off flares of grace all over the globe and flying off the moment they see a sign of Vaniah or any of his contingency parties. The entire time Dean thinks about everything Cas said he wants. He wants to know _him_ , wants to be let past all the little barriers and roadblocks that Dean’s put up because it was supposed to be the less Cas knew the better. That’s not the case anymore and Dean should adjust, but it’s hard. He’s always been private about himself, in heaven and on earth. Even Sam doesn’t know half the shit he did after they touched down together with the amulet. And he’s got a hell of a history going back longer than Cas can probably comprehend. How’s he supposed to know what of that to tell Cas?

Dean thinks about it over another week, and another. He keeps a list of all the things he’ll tell Cas and he decides he’ll apologize when the list is done. Sam keeps reminding him that even if they’ve got all of eternity, Cas _doesn’t_ and Dean should act while he still has the chance. He says it like it’s something Dean isn’t already well aware of. Sometimes, when he drops in at the rectory just to see Cas and make sure he’s okay, he thinks about knocking on the window and telling him right then. He never does.

It’s in the middle of a Dr. Sexy Christmas Special that Dean pauses the DVD and turns to Sam. “Do you think he’s going to invite us to Christmas?”

Sam lifts his head and gets a far off look in his eyes, like he’s thinking. His wings shift when he shrugs. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“Cas isn’t talking to me.”

“He would if you talked to him.”

He slumps back, one hand straying to the rosary around his other wrist while he thinks. Dean can’t talk to Cas yet. There’s still all the things he has to figure out to tell him. If he tries talking to Cas now, he’s going to fuck something up. He’s gotta be _prepared_ when it comes to dealing with Cas or he’s just going to throw Dean entirely off his game like he always does. There’s too much at stake here for him to slip up now.

“What should I get him for Christmas?”

“I bet he’d love an _apology_.”

Dean flips Sam his middle finger and hits play for the DVD. The show runs in the background but he’s not paying attention anymore. Maybe Sam’s onto something. Maybe Dean should finish his list, write it out, and give it to Cas. But that’s like giving himself as a gift and what if Cas doesn’t want him anymore? And as awesome as Dean is, it’s still kind of a shitty gift. He could always get Cas more of that fancy coffee. He’s probably finished it by now. What about an old book? His favourite TV show on DVD – no, wait, he doesn’t have a TV.

“Give me your phone.” He holds his hand out to Sam. “I’m going to ask what he wants for Christmas.”

“Use your own phone.”

“He’s not going to answer if he knows it’s me.”

Sam looks up from the book and his wings twitch, feathers shuffling and rubbing against each other like he’s amused. “How do you know if you don’t try?”

Dean rolls his eyes and curls his fingers a few times. “Just gimme the phone.”

The smug little smirk on Sam’s face kind of makes Dean want to smack him in the head with his wing. They may not be a part of the host at the moment, but he’s still – technically – Sam’s superior. Before he can ask again, or even reach out to try and take it, something in Dean’s grace spasms and his wings snap out with the rippling after effect. And it happens again like a physical pain, one he shouldn’t be able to feel and it’s narrowed to a single point on his shoulder. Just as soon as it happens, it’s gone – but his grace still tingles with the memory of it.

“What’s wrong?” Sam’s on his feet and he’s pushing Dean back up – when did he double over? Why does everything feel like its spinning? “Dean, what happened?”

“I don’t know.” He’s kept from putting his hand to his shoulder by his phone – it rings in his pocket with the catchy little tune Dean had picked just for Cas’s number. Dean nearly slides right off the couch trying to unfold enough to dig the phone out of the pocket of his jeans. The three letters on the screen confirms that it’s definitely Cas. Something a heck of a lot like panic starts to creep into Dean’s grace and it’s not just because they haven’t talked in something like three weeks.

“Stop staring and _answer it_.” Sam hisses, reaching out to flip the phone open for him.

Dean clears his throat before he hits the button and puts it to his ear. The first thing he notices is the silence. There’s not even the static burst of every exhale from _breathing_. If Cas pocket dialed him, he’d hear rustling fabric, maybe even voices. There’s nothing. Dead air. He frowns up at Sam and shakes his head at the curious look. Maybe he’s waiting for him to say something?

“Cas?”

It feels like the floor drops out from under him and his wings don’t work. The room spins again and Dean’s grace is boiling, his vessel feels too tight and it’s all from one word – his _name_. But it doesn’t sound right. It sounds thick, soggy and _wrong_ – like Cas is choking on it.

“Cas?” Dean tries again and he doesn’t get an answer. “Cas! Cas, where are you?” Nothing. Just that silence until he hears something else. A whispering noise, like cloth moving over cloth. Dean knows that sound and the name of the creature that makes it.

He doesn’t remember closing the phone or putting it back in his pocket. Hell, he could have dropped it for all he knows. The only thing that matters is finding Cas and Dean starts with the most obvious place. There’s no going for the kitchen window this time. Dean lands on the path through the garden, already gathering his grace to blow the damn door off its hinges. The wards won’t be able to keep him out of something they’re not attached to.

But the door is already open and there’s nothing pushing at him, no glowing symbols that he can see. But he can _smell_ and the sick scent of death is in the air. Dean thought the repeated _nononono_ was only in his head, tearing through his grace as he sprints the short distance to the door, but it’s coming from his mouth too. A strangled version of Cas’s name interrupts it.

Blood soaks into Dean’s jeans as he drops to his knees next to Cas. His hands are surprisingly steady when he reaches out to roll him onto his back. They’re careful, cradling Cas’s face, fingers splaying over his throat. There’s a thin pulse under his skin and the relief is like a sucker punch to Dean’s chest. Cas’s heart is still beating – he’s still alive. But the smell of the reaper is still strong, stinging his nose and there’s no breath in Cas’s lungs.

“Dean.” Sam’s behind him, shutting the door. “Is he –?”

He’s scared to answer. Scared to check past what he can see and feel with his vessel. The fear is worse than when _he_ was dying, worse even than the time Cas was stabbed. Back then, Cas was only bleeding. He was still there, still holding on, still _breathing_. This isn’t any of that. This is Cas already having let go. But a reaper isn’t supposed to take a soul until the heart stops and Dean can feel it, weak against his fingertips. Cas is pale and cold to Dean’s hands and he doesn’t make a sound when Dean lifts him to lean against his chest, his head lolling against his shoulder as Dean’s wings curve protectively around him.

“Heal him.” One of Sam’s wings brushes over his back as he crouches next to Dean. He sweeps his hands through the pool of blood. “Don’t worry about anything else, just heal him.”

Dean doesn’t need to be told twice. With one arm around Cas’s shoulders, he presses a palm to his chest and lets his grace surge through it. Light shines under his hand and spreads through Cas’s skin. Sam is painting on the walls with Cas’s blood, drawing symbols that Dean has never even seen before underneath green and silver garlands.

Sam filled his head with a whole different kind of knowledge than Dean did when they touched down. He hunted down ancient scrolls and artifacts – all the things with hidden information heaven doesn’t have. Meanwhile, Dean sunk into humanity, soaked it up like a sponge and loved every moment of it – fascinated with all the little things they’ve created to get themselves through each day.

Maybe if Dean had listened more when Sam had talked about the claim he made on Cas, he’d have known what it was that had torn through his grace back at the apartment. It was a warning – Cas’s soul calling out for him before Cas could use the phone. If Dean had reacted at the first twinge, maybe Cas wouldn’t be like this. Maybe he’d still have his eyes open, hazy on blood loss, and he might’ve smiled when Dean came in. Would’ve reached for him, said his name and Dean would’ve cracked and healed him and apologized – and he would never let go.

“Those will keep anyone from sensing what you’re doing, but they’re not going to hold up for long. The longer you let your grace burn, the faster they’ll degrade.” Sam crouches in front of him, eyes on Cas and Dean doesn’t like his worried frown or sad eyes. “I’m  – I’ll go get Balthazar.” Then he’s up and out of Dean’s line of sight again and Dean stops caring what he does.

The bullets melt from existence and their wound tracks close themselves under the guidance of Dean’s grace. He replaces the blood Cas lost and cleans his clothes of it but ignores the puddle on the kitchen floor. They can deal with that later. All that matters is that Cas is breathing again. But he’s not moving and Dean bites down on the growing panic.

Cas looks like he’s sleeping as colour returns to his face and the blood on his lips fades away. There’s no response and there should be one. He should be waking up, should be looking up at Dean and saying something and he’s _not_. Dread is a heavy weight in his stomach and Dean tries to shove it down, bury it with his grace so he can’t feel it because there is _no way_ –

“Balthazar’s in Texas.” Sam’s wing shifts over his own and the sympathy that bleeds from his grace into Dean’s is terrifying. He didn’t even hear Sam make the call. “I’ll be right back.”

Dean knows before Sam’s gone. He knows what’s wrong right now and he doesn’t want to believe it – _can’t_ believe it. Cas’s heart was still beating – he was still _alive_. A reaper shouldn’t have – it was too _early_. The moment the healing is complete and Cas is as healthy as he’s ever been, Dean shuffles across the kitchen floor until he can sit with his back against the basement door. He pulls Cas more into his lap, looping an arm around his waist and he presses his nose into Cas’s hair.

His lips brush his forehead with every word. “Please, Cas. Wake up.” They’re choked Enochian, the closest to a prayer he can make to a human. “Don’t do this. _Please_. I’m sorry, Cas. _Wake up_.”

Cas doesn’t wake up.

He doesn’t even twitch when Sam returns with Balthazar and the bastard starts shouting. It’s no surprise that he blames them – blames _Dean_ – for all of this. Dean doesn’t even bother trying to explain. Cas is alive – breathing with a beating heart and everything, except what matters. And the thought of checking, of _confirming_ makes Dean’s grace turn to ice in the veins of his vessel. He can’t – he _won’t_ do it. It scares him just as much as the silence in the part of his grace that was linked to Cas and the numbness on his shoulder.

They move Cas into the bedroom and Dean shoves the side table out of the way so he can sit at the head of the bed with his hands on Cas’s shoulders. He holds him down while Sam pushes his hand beyond Cas’s physical form. Dean squeezes his eyes shut and a sour taste stings the back of his tongue. Cas isn’t screaming. Even if he’s unconscious, the pain should be enough to get a groan at the very least. There’s nothing and he sleeps through it.

“I’m sorry.” Sam steps away from the bed and he sounds like his voice is coming from far away. Dean’s wings curl tight around his shoulders and fan out over Cas, trying to keep the rest of his words from reaching him. “He's technically alive, but there’s no soul or consciousness.”

“What that hell is that supposed to mean?” Balthazar doesn’t sound angry anymore. He sounds _scared_. “How is he even alive without a – That’s not possible, is it?”

“It is. Soul, consciousness, body – they’re all separate. I’ve never seen a body without either of the others, but it is possible to have no soul or no consciousness and still be alive.” Sam explains and Dean wants to snap at him, wants to tell him to shut up. “Without a soul you’d be an emotionless asshole, but you’d still be up and about because your consciousness would be there. The other way, with a soul and no consciousness, is – I think you call it a ‘coma’? Cas doesn't have either. He's just – he’s _empty_.”

Dean stands up and Sam catches him before he makes it to the door. “Where are you going?”

“A reaper took Cas. I’m going to find it and I’m going to kill it.”

“They’re only doing their job, Dean.” Sam’s voice goes soft and Dean _hates_ it. “If Cas gave in, the reaper is well within its right to take him and they don’t hold on to souls either. He’s probably in heaven now.”

He tries shaking Sam’s hand off without turning to look at him, his grace rippling dangerously. “Then I’ll go get him back.”

“This isn’t your fault, Dean.”

“Like hell it isn’t.” Balthazar mutters, sinking down into the reading chair. He sounds older than Dean knows he is. “I warned Cassie. I _told_ him nothing good would come from knowing you two. How many times has he almost died since he met you? How many more until you’re satisfied of playing with him?”

“ _Not_ the time.” Sam hisses, but Dean feels the sting of Balthazar’s words like a physical blow.

He’s hurting too and Dean wants to snap back at him, give him a sense of normalcy while they try to figure out what the hell to do but he can’t. Cas is up there and if an angel gets to him, if they see Dean’s grace stitched into Cas’s soul with _his_ mark – who knows what they’re going to do to try and get him to give them up. He can’t let that happen. Dean needs to get Cas back even if it means storming the gates of heaven on his own. Then, when Cas is all better, he’s going to hunt Azazel and his ring of human puppets down and he’ll wipe them from existence.

“I’m not letting you go up there, Dean. The moment you step foot in heaven, if it’s not Zachariah after your ass then it might be Raphael or even Michael.” Sam pulls at his arm to turn him around. “You’re not going to do Cas any good if you get caught too.”

“He’d hate it.” Balthazar sighs, not even looking at them. He’s watching Cas. “If you sacrifice yourself for him like that, he’ll never forgive himself or you. It would be pointless even if you did save him – surviving and losing you because of it. The guilt would kill him.”

None of them say anything for a few minutes and Dean feels twitchy. He doesn’t want to hold still, not while Cas is like _that_.

Sam’s voice rings clear through Dean’s head and his wings flare in surprise. The Enochian is slow and steady – a prayer, but it’s not for Dean. Their moles in heaven will hear it, they pick up all angel talk even if it’s not broadcasted over every angel radio channel, and they’ll know that Cas is up there too. They’ll know to keep an eye out and to make sure the angels don’t get their claws into him. It’s a smart plan and Dean’s a little ashamed that he couldn’t calm down enough to think of it himself. A little bit of the tension slips from his shoulders and he stops fighting Sam’s grip.

“Good.” A wing brushes over Dean’s again and Sam gives him a small smile. “I’m going to look through all the books Cas and I have. We’ll see if I can’t find something that might help us.”

Balthazar gets up and pushes past them both. “Come on then. You can’t get into the basement, so I’ll have to help. I’ll put the coffee on and get started with bringing things upstairs.”

“ _You_ actually do _research_?” Sam follows him and the teasing tone in his voice is forced enough that even Dean can hear it. He’s trying to lighten the mood but Dean doesn’t feel any better.

“Beauty and brains. I know, I’m _full_ of surprises.”

He stops listening. It’s not like he can help them do any research right now, not when he can barely focus on anything besides Cas. But there is something he can do. It’s a long shot, but it’s all Dean has and it might just help center him enough to be of some use to them soon. He drops to his knees beside the bed and folds Cas’s fingers around his rosary, cupping his hand between his.

Dean closes his eyes, presses his lips to Cas’s fingers and the rosary, and he prays. He prays to the only person left to listen him. He prays to the only person who won’t try and kill him if they hear him. He prays to God. Dean prays for God to bring Cas back to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My reasons for not tagging as temporary character death is because Cas never actually died. He's just having an extreme out of body experience.


	10. And yet, by Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is a priest – a shepherd for those who are lost. If it’s his family, however small it may be, that needs guidance now, then he’ll do what he has always done. He’ll help them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Pappcave's Reverse!Verse](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/Papp%27s-reverse%21verse). Papp has written a few things for it already (found at the link above) - part of Castiel's past included. 
> 
> And he was nice enough to do extra art for this fic too! Go give him some love!
> 
>  
> 
> **Updates the 15th and 30th of every month until the story is complete. And no, I'm sorry, I don't know how long it will be. For chapter statuses and information, please[check here.](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hunting+for+faith)**

The door is familiar under his fingers, the grain well worn from years of being pulled open in the same spot by hundreds of hands. If he turns his head, the doorknob would be even with his eyes and he knows every scratch and dent on its surface. He could probably draw it from memory if he wanted to. But at the moment, the doorknob is the last thing on his mind.

For the last few days he’s been cooped up inside and quarantined to the sick room. Today’s the first day he can breathe through his nose and he isn’t coughing every few minutes. Today’s the day Sister Liz said he could finally go outside again and play with the other children. It’s bright out, a blue sky with no clouds and one of the first autumn breezes on the air. The scent of flowers from Father Christopher’s garden smells more like home than the orphanage does. He can see the Father kneeling at the edge of one of the flower beds while he pulls weeds.

Tending the gardens with Father Christopher has always been one of his most favourite things to do. He learns so much and there’s a certain thrill in helping things grow, in watching them thrive and know that you played a part in it. A shriek of delight distracts him and he look toward the west wing where a group of children are running around the corner. Anna is in the lead, her red hair undone and flying behind her. She never keeps it tied up like the Sisters try to keep it. Behind her is Uriel and he’s glancing behind him. It’s a game of tag.

Ion and Inias scatter away from Anna and Uriel, shrieking laughter as Samandriel stumbles after them. But he’s not ‘it’ – not by the way he glances over his shoulder too. Balthazar has always been a fast runner, one of the fastest here though he claims he hates to exert himself. Samandriel is the youngest, and the slowest. He stood no chance as soon as he fell behind the rest. When Balthazar catches Samandriel and taps him on the shoulder only to run off laughing, it makes him smile. But the smile falls quickly when Balthazar waves at him.

He looks – Balthazar looks _wrong_. It doesn’t make sense. He looks just like he did yesterday, and the day before. But there’s a feeling – a voice – in the back of his head, clawing at him, telling him it’s wrong and he doesn’t know why. Everyone else looks the same and that little voice doesn’t tell him that Rachel or Hael look wrong, sitting together under a tree and playing with their dolls.

The voice only gets louder when he realizes there are two faces he hasn’t seen yet. Hester and Ezekiel are inside, still doing their daily chores. He knows this, he saw them on his way to the door. With his hands, he counts off the children. The number _feels_ right, but the voice tells him it’s wrong. It tells him there are two missing, but he knows there isn’t. He’s seen everyone. Their orphanage is small and secluded, but everyone is here. Who could be –

“Castiel!”

The confusion falls away and he looks to where Father Christopher is standing. His smile is wide enough to crinkle the skin around his eyes and the sun catches in his salt and pepper hair. He waves both arms above his head like a child. “Castiel, come out and join us! It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”

It is. It’s a perfect day and he’s finally well enough to join them. Castiel smiles again, deciding then and there to help in the garden before he plays with the others. He never knows if, or when, he’ll be adopted and he wants to spend as much time with the only Father he’s ever known before that happens. Castiel only manages a step toward the threshold when a voice behind him speaks.

“Man, I would _not_ do that if I were you.”

He turns around and frowns up at the skinny man wearing a gold cape and a mask like the Mexican wrestlers the Sisters sometimes watch on TV. His voice sounded familiar but Castiel doesn’t recognize him. There aren’t supposed to be any wrestlers here. Weirder still is that the wrestler isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at a space a few feet above him.

“Why? Who are you?”

“You go out there and the angels are gonna get you.” The wrestler steps around him and pushes the door out of Castiel’s hand, forcing him to step out of the way to let it close.

That makes about as much sense as having a Mexican wrestler here. Angels are supposed to be good, aren’t they? Why would they be outside waiting for him? He’s not dead. No one would be able to see him if he was dead. And Castiel is pretty sure that it isn’t the Rapture either. If it was, it wouldn’t look so pretty outside right now.

“You shouldn’t even be up here, man. Damn angels keep messing with you.” The wrestler crouches and pulls a stick of chalk from his pocket. When he looks over his shoulder, the eyes peeking through the mask are fixed on the spot well above his head.

“Why won’t you look at me?” Castiel asks, tilting his head and frowning. It’s annoying when it’s clearly him the wrestler is addressing, but he isn’t speaking _to_ him.

The wrestler shrugs and turns back to the door, scribbling symbols Castiel doesn’t recognize. “I was.”

“No, you weren’t. You were looking above me.”

He stops and looks over his shoulder again. “Really? How old are you here?”

“I’ll be eight in a month.” Castiel continues to frown at him. This man is nothing but confusing.

“You sure as hell don’t look it, compadre.” The wrestler laughs and finishes his last symbol with a flourish. He stands up and dusts his hands off. “C’mon, let’s go meet the family, have a brewski, catch up on old times and all that jazz.”

It’s not the court yard and the garden outside the door when the wrestler pulls it open. There’s darkness on the other side of the threshold and Castiel takes a step back. He doesn’t want to leave the orphanage, or Father Christopher, or any of his friends. He was always told he should never go anywhere with a stranger and this wrestler is one, even if his voice feels strangely familiar.

“You’re holding up the class. Let’s get a move on before the angels sniff out our trail.” The wrestler steps behind him and shoves him forward.

Castiel staggers through the doorway, expecting to fall into oblivion or whatever the darkness might be. He’s not expecting to stumble out into another room and be assaulted by the stale smell of beer, blood, and nuts. Neither is he expecting to sudden be much taller than he had been before he went through the door. It’s extremely disorienting, but at least the smell makes sense when he notices that he is standing in a vaguely familiar bar. For the life of him he can’t remember wherehe recognizes it from.

“Buenos dias, bitches.” The wrestler announces behind him, shutting the door with a click.

There are people here, three of them sitting around a table and the forth standing behind the bar. Castiel looks at each face and he knows them. When he remembers their names, a flood of memories accompanies it. The wrestler brushes past him, pulling off his cape and tossing it over the back of a chair before he removes his mask. A mullet and black, sleeveless shirt. His name comes to Castiel as easily as everyone else’s.

“Ash.”

“Welcome to my blue heaven.” Ash turns to him with a grin, snatching up a can of beer from the table like it was waiting for him and gesturing grandly at what Castiel now recognizes as Harvelle’s Roadhouse. He only came here once with Balthazar. “Your first time up here is always pretty disorienting. But you remember the rest of the gang, don’t’cha?”

He does. Jo, Ellen, Pamela, Bobby – Castiel remembers them all and he remembers that they’re _dead_. That’s when the rest comes back and everything makes sense. Balthazar looked wrong because he was _young_. The missing people were Dean and Sam. He’s dead. He was shot in the back by Ruby and he’s _dead_ and he never got to say goodbye to anyone and –

“Don’t make that face, idjit.” Bobby’s gruff voice is almost lost to the scrape of chair legs on the floor. He wraps Castiel in a tight hug that he automatically sags into, his knees suddenly feeling too weak to hold him upright. “Can’t say I’m all that happy to see you. You’re too early, boy.”

“Early?”

“It’s all over the network.” Jo says from her chair, raising a hand in a wave. Castiel never got to know her very well, but she and Balthazar were apparently good friends – the kind of friend that you constantly bicker with. “Your soul got taken before you were actually dead. It’s making the shepherds throw a fit and shit is going to hit the fan the moment they notice you’re missing from your heaven.”

Ellen comes around from behind the bar to pull out the empty chair between Pamela and Jo, a grim smile on her face. “Castiel, come sit down and have a beer. We’ll explain everything.”

He drops into the chair and glances at Pamela. She’s a psychic that Castiel had only met a handful of times before she got caught up in one of Balthazar's cases involving demons. Castiel knows her about as well as he knows Ash, Ellen and Jo – and that’s not very well. He barely knew them, only having had a handful of conversations over the phone when he needed information and a few face-to-face meetings when he went hunting with Balthazar. They were never really considered his friends, more like acquaintances he knew in the business.

Ash was the first to die when the Roadhouse burned down due to faulty wiring, though no one really believes it was that. Ellen took good care of her bar and it’s almost inconceivable that _wiring_ was behind it. That was only a few months, not even a whole year, before Bobby died too. Ellen and Jo took to hunting after the fire and Castiel doesn’t know the conditions around their death, but he was told it wasn’t pretty. They were just more casualties to the hunting life.

It's been less time since Pamela died, a little over a year or maybe closer to two. She smiles at him, sliding over an unopened beer. Castiel stares at it, wanting to drink but not wanting the nightmares that drinking usually brings. But that was when he was alive. If he's in heaven, does he need to sleep? Will the nightmares still come while he's here? Castiel isn't sure and at this moment, he doesn't rightly care. He's _dead_. The beer hisses when he cracks the cap off and tilts it to his lips, downing the entire thing in several long gulps.

“Thirsty?” Pamela teases and Castiel shrugs, shoving the empty bottle away.

“If y'got questions boy, now's the time to ask 'em.” Bobby sits opposite him, arms crossed tight over his chest as he leans back in his chair. “Where should we start?”

There are so many questions. Big ones, small ones, some that don't have anything to do with what's happening right now or what happened just before. He doesn't know where to start, or what to say and there's that deep, aching sadness in his chest. Castiel was supposed to keep himself safe and prove to Dean that he didn't need to be protected. Maybe he doesn't need to be _protected_ but none of this would have happened if he hadn't been so stubborn, if he had let Dean and Sam visit.

He tries not to think about who might discover his body. Will it be Sam and Dean? Balthazar? One of his parishioners looking for him in the morning when he doesn't show up for mass? What are they going to think when they find the message on the fridge? Or the basement full of weapons and all things occult? Castiel doesn't care about his name and how the townspeople will think he was crazy. He doesn't care about the rumours that might rise up around the murdered priest. None of that matters here. It didn’t even matter down there. He’s more worried about Balthazar, Sam and – he reaches for another beer.

Small things. He’ll start with the small things until he can center himself enough to even begin thinking about the big things. Castiel looks up at Ash and his new place behind the bar. “Why did you look above me when we were in my heaven?”

“Your memory was from when you were a kid, right?” Ash pulls a can of beer from a six pack, watching Castiel while he does it. “Yeah, man. Since it’s your memory, you’re as you were in that. Me? I see you as you were when you died. It’s pretty Twilight Zone.” He grins and cracks open the can, downing it before it’s even finished hissing.

Castiel nods, nursing his second beer a little slower than the first. This time he looks towards Jo. “What are ‘shepherds’?”

“They’re the ones who take the souls from the reapers and ‘shepherd’ them to their personal heavens. It’s not like everything is automatic here, y’know.” She shrugs, gesturing vaguely. “All the angels are warriors, but when they’re not out in battle they’ve all got their little tasks to do up here. Dean and Sam were guardians, checking through all the heavens to make sure everything is in tip top shape.”

“You’re their contacts.” It’s not a question.

Pamela slaps him on the back in an overly familiar gesture that leaves him slightly confused and his shoulder stinging. “Got it in one! Dean’s a dumbass for not telling you.”

He shrugs and looks down at the half empty beer. “Knowing you’re the ones who give them information changes nothing. It’s nice to know, but I would still be dead if I had known before or not.”

“Maybe you would’ve been kept alive.” Bobby suggests.

“What for?” Castiel’s grip around the bottle goes tight. “I wouldn’t have told them anything even if I knew. There are some things that are more important than myself. Dean and Sam need your help to find out about the seals and I never would have compromised that.”

“Never say never, boy.” Bobby’s stands again and Castiel looks up, twisting in his chair to watch him head toward the back hall. He doesn’t follow until Bobby gestures for him to. “Nobody really knows how they’ll hold up under torture and them angels can give it as good as any demon. Their Bible camp ain’t all scriptures and prayer. We’ve heard enough to know.”

The others tag along behind him in a chorus of chair legs scraping on wooden floors. Ash brings another beer, almost jogging ahead to beat Castiel through the door Bobby left open. They walk down a simple hallway, passing bathrooms labeled _Guys_ and _Gals_ , and a door with a sign nailed to it that reads ‘Dr. Badass is:’. Hanging from that is another sign currently flipped to ‘in’. As he passes it, Ash reaches out and flips the sign to say ‘out’.

They’re led into a backroom and Castiel nearly stops in the doorway, staring at the setup that takes up nearly a whole wall. One side of the room is a washer and dryer that Castiel assumes goes unused since they’re in heaven. The other side of the room is dominated by a wall of monitors and all of them are currently black. As soon as Ash drops into the only chair and hits a button on the keyboard, they light up with wiggling wavelengths all over the screens. Each one is emitting a high pitched sound of varying decibels and Castiel resists the automatic reaction of clapping his hands over his ears. They’re toned down right now and they don’t hurt his head like they did on Earth.

“Angels. You’re listening in on the angels.” Castiel murmurs in surprise, approaching the back of Ash’s chair and looking over the screens. Only one of them is still black.

He glances over his shoulder to find Ellen, Jo and Pamela grouped in the doorway. Jo looks bored, like she’s heard this explanation enough times before that she’d rather be playing one of the arcade games in the main room.

“Anything they say up here, we pick up on this.” Bobby gestures at the monitors. “Whether it’s giving orders or yacking, we’ll get it. Each screen picks up a different section of heaven and Ash here whipped up a program to catch anything that hints at a seal.”

“What about that one?” He asks, pointing to the black screen.

Ellen answers from where she’s leaning against the frame of the door. “That would be Earth. We don’t get much on that one unless Vaniah’s giving orders or the boys talk to each other – and most of that is just messages for us to pick up on.”

“But how do you understand it? Isn’t it in Enochian?”

Ash snorts and pats what looks like a bastardized version of a seismograph. “I’m fluent, but my baby here translates it all for the language-challenged when I’m out living it up in the afterlife.” He grins over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “We found a way to hop between the personal heavens and my friend, you do _not_ know the fun that can be had. Did y’know Einstein can mix a mean White Russian?”

Castiel ignores the question, eyes fixed on the black screen as an idea forms. “How can I get a message to Dean and Sam?” He looks to Bobby, surprised to find that he won’t meet his eyes. “There are things Dean needs to know. Things he and Sam need to tell Balthazar for me.”

“You’d need to know their names for that.” Pamela grins from over Ellen’s shoulder, eyes dancing. “And they don’t want you to know that. Not yet.”

“What does it matter now? I’m _dead_.” He turns to her, a familiar irritation building. “And heaven already knows who they are. When Vaniah nearly killed Dean, he was around them long enough that he probably saw who they were. I don’t –”

“We’ll ask them.” Ellen cuts in, turning a sharp glare on Pamela. “With you up here, those boys might be changing their minds about a lot of things. Names have power, Castiel, and we can’t go giving theirs away without their permission.”

“Don’t forget that they’re _angels_.” Jo points out. “You’ll probably see them again one way or another since we’re in heaven after all.”

He frowns, struggling to keep the unease bubbling in his stomach from boiling over. “ _Probably_ isn’t very comforting. They’re renegades and Vaniah nearly killed them both on two separate occasions. If heaven catches them, what makes you think they’ll be allowed to live?”

“Bible camp.” Bobby grunts, almost spitting the words. “Vaniah’s been given the orders to take ‘em dead or alive depending on the situation. It ain’t been an ‘alive’ kind of situation yet, but if they’re captured, they’ll be put through reconditioning. Angel numbers aren’t unlimited. God stopped making new one just before He cleared out. If they kept killing off every angel who strays a little or starts asking too many questions, they’d be extinct in under a millennia.”

Castiel runs a hand through his hair sharply, turning his glare to the computer screens and the voices of all the angels. He’s dead, his head shouldn’t be allowed to hurt. He shouldn’t be able to feel sick to his stomach with upset because he never got to say goodbye to anyone he cared for, or because they won’t tell him Dean’s real name so he can have that peace. In heaven he shouldn’t feel this angry, or hurt – and he certainly shouldn’t feel this _ache_ in his chest like there’s a hole in his soul.

There’s so much information here to learn and understand. He likely has an eternity to figure it all out, but he doesn’t want that. Castiel doesn’t want to be _here_ – and a small, angry part of him wishes Ash had left him in his heaven, despite how the angels would have likely found him not long after that. Not that Castiel knows or understands why they would want him. He can’t see any reason that he would be of any use to them now.

He needs to sort himself out and take this one step at a time. The only problem is Castiel doesn’t know _which_ step to take first. He wants to keep helping Sam and Dean, but he doesn’t want to help them from _here_. Castiel wants to be on Earth and be with Dean so he can apologize. He was stubborn and foolish to think he could stay safe all on his own. It’s simple survival rules – safety in numbers.

Bobby’s hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. “I know it’s a lot to take in right now, boy. But you take your time to adjust. You’re safe here. No angels are getting in these walls anytime soon.”

“But you should probably stay away from the windows and don’t go towards the light.” Jo giggles like it’s a joke, but it’s one Castiel doesn’t quite get. He doesn’t ask after it and she shrugs, slipping away down the hall with Ellen and Pamela in tow. Bobby squeezes his shoulder again before leaving too.

Castiel stops Ash with a hand on his shoulder, keeping him from turning off the monitors. It seems like the programs continue running regardless of whether the screens are on or not. “I’d like to watch it for a while. Just while I’m thinking.” It’s not like he knows how to use this computer. He just needs a place to sit and figure everything out and the pulsating wavelengths, despite the piercing sound of their voices, is strangely calming.

“Si, si. Have at.” Ash kicks away from the desk and swivels the chair around as he gets to his feet. “If anything about a seal comes up or a prayer beams on home from Earth, she’ll start printing. The alarm might give you a jump, so watch out.”

“Thank you. I’ll join you all in a –” Castiel is interrupted by the clanging ring of what looks like a red fire alarm bell set up above the door. Ash wasn’t kidding about the alarm

He winces and covers his ears. Ash shrugs and points at the Earth-monitor. There’s one pulsing line in the middle of the screen. Luckily, the alarm doesn’t last long and the screen goes black again shortly after. Before Castiel’s hearing has returned, the printer is whirring to life. It’s not the fastest that Castiel has ever seen, but it’s decent and Ash rips the paper from it.

“Ah, our compadres are a bit on the slow side today.” He waves the paper back and forth as he heads out the door. “Don’t worry about it. Our man Sam is just letting us know you’ve taken the stairway to heaven. Ain’t nothing we don’t already know.”

Ash is gone before Castiel can ask to see the prayer. He has no reason not to trust Ash, but he would have liked to see what Sam had said for himself. Castiel sighs and rubs his temples, again wondering how it’s possible to feel the onset of a headache while in _heaven_. It’s surprisingly easy for him to focus again as he drops into the chair. It creaks slightly as he leans back as far as it will go and drums his fingers on the armrests, watching the dancing waves of angel voices on the screens. Their ringing is only a background noise to him now.

It’s hard to think when the only thoughts that keep wiggling themselves back into his head to take root are the ones that make it feel like his throat is closing up. They make his eyes burn and Castiel blinks away the blurring world. He can’t think about what it’s going to be like for Balthazar to find out he died minutes after they spoke. He can’t think about how the last thing he’d done was call Dean and his silence would probably have been enough for them to come check on him – which means they’ll be the first to find his body. If he thinks about what Dean must be feeling right now, there won’t be stopping it and he doesn’t want to break down here with everyone else just down the hall.

Castiel tries to take deep, steady breaths. He needs to stay calm and focus on the matter at hand. It takes him a few minutes to clear his head enough to realize that there’s nothing he can do. He’s dead and in heaven and the best he can do is help Sam and Dean by working with Bobby and the others. If he prays to Dean right now, it might only distract him. There could be demons and angels waiting outside the rectory, waiting to call them out for a fight like Alistair has already done once before.

At least no one will be able to use his safety as a threat anymore. And now he isn’t a distraction. Sam and Dean – especially Dean – will be able to focus on the seals easier without him there to call them home for the holidays, or ask them to dinner. They won’t be wasting their time anymore with dropping in to keep him company. Maybe it will be easier on them now.

That thought only makes the pain in his chest worse and Castiel absently presses his hand against his sternum, rubbing slightly as if that throbbing ache is a physical sensation he can soothe. The touch does nothing to help and his eyes slide to the blank screen.

Would it hurt less if he had been allowed a goodbye? Would it be easier to let go if he didn’t have any regrets? All of them circle around Dean and the knot in the base of his throat grows again, tightening with every breath.

When the alarm rings again a moment later, Castiel actually welcomes it – despite how he nearly flips the chair in surprise. There’s another line on the Earth-monitor and Castiel almost holds his breath, practically hovering over the printer as it whirs awake again. He doesn’t know who it might be, but it’s a distraction he’ll gladly take to keep from thinking more and more about everything he should have – could have done differently.

The first word in the corner of the page is a line of symbols Castiel doesn’t recognize. He ignores them in favour of reading the rest of the words – which, thankfully, are in English. Castiel frowns at the _Dear God_ , wondering which angel would be praying to someone who – in his experience – isn’t even listening anymore. The next line has him take pause, his brain coming to a stop like a short wick reaching its end. He rereads it once, twice, and a third time before the words actually sink in.

_Don’t let them have him._

His fingertips turn white with how hard he presses them into the desktop. It’s the only way to keep his hands from shaking while he reads the rest. _I’ve asked a lot of you lately and you haven’t listened to that – but please,_ please _, hear me now._ There are footsteps at the door but Castiel can’t take his eyes from the printed letters. _Don’t punish Cas for what we’ve done. We shouldn’t have dragged him into this._

“It’s Dean.” He whispers, not knowing or caring who came at the sound of the alarm. “Dean is praying. He’s praying to _God_.”

 _They cheated. They took him before he was dead and I could have saved him. I_ did _save him. He’s breathing down here and they still took him._

“You shouldn’t be reading that.” The hand on his shoulder is as soft as the voice. Ellen. She’s right, but he can’t pull himself away from it. Not yet.

_Please don’t let them hurt him. Please bring him back._

That ache gets worse, like a rubber band stretching toward its breaking point in his chest. Castiel has never known Dean to beg before for anything. Not even for the last slice of pie. He’s asked for things, but never _begged_. Not like he’s doing in this prayer. Ellen keeps talking, but Castiel doesn’t hear her. There’s more to the prayer.

_I know I’ve never been the best of sons, but don’t let Cas suffer because of that. He’s got too much heart for his own good and he doesn’t deserve any of the crap we’ve brought on him. I was stupid. I should’ve been here. I should’ve been with him. I know I don’t deserve it – I know I don’t deserve him, but I – Please, bring him back to – bring him back. Please._

The prayer starts to repeat after that and Castiel turns away from the desk. His face feels wet and he scrubs his sleeve over his cheeks. Ellen doesn’t say anything, but there’s sympathy in her eyes and she squeezes his shoulder tightly. A grim determination settles in his belly and Castiel can’t even bring himself to give her a thankful smile. He leaves her to deal with the printer and Dean’s prayer.

In the main room, Ash, Jo and Pamela are grouped around one of the few arcade games in the corner. Judging by the sound of it, Jo is winning. It’s a shooting game and he isn’t surprised. Bobby is leaning back in one of the chairs from before, looking over the paper Ash had left with. He’s got his feet up on the table and a tumbler of whiskey in one hand.

As Castiel approaches, he looks up at him from under his ever present ball cap. “What was it?”

“Dean.” It’s a short answer, but it should be enough. “And I’m not dead. My body is still alive.”

Bobby drops his feet to the floor while downing the last of his drink. “Yeah, we know. Sam said as much in his prayer. Body’s alive, but empty. I told you that you were here too early, boy.”

“How do I get back?”

“There ain’t no way of getting back. You’re _dead_.”

Castiel bites back the urge to swear. “I’m _not_. I just have to get out of heaven, get back to my body and I’ll be fine. It’s not a corpse, it’s living and breathing and _alive_.” His nails dig into his palms as he curls his hands into fists at his sides. “I refuse to believe that there isn’t a way back. If angels can come and go to Earth whenever they please, then a soul can do it too.”

“And I’m telling you it ain’t possible.” Bobby snaps, standing up. “If it was possible, then every Tom, Dick and Harry who gets resuscitated would be able to waltz right back into their body even if their damn brain is already dead.”

“What about the people who do come back? Don’t they have stories about heaven, and loved ones lost?”

“That’s different.”

Castiel’s frustration is starting to build again and he’s not sure if he can keep himself calm and moderately polite much longer. “How? _How_ is my situation any different?”

“Sit your ass down and I’ll explain how the bureaucracy around here works.” Bobby shoves a chair out with his foot but Castiel remains stubbornly on his feet, glaring down the few inches between them. It takes Bobby a minute before he sighs and pours himself another few fingers of whiskey.

“The way it goes is a reaper takes your soul when your heart stops. Reapers give you over to shepherds who shuffle you off to your own personal slice of heaven.” He downs the glass while gesturing around at the Roadhouse. “All those people who ‘come back’? They don’t make it this far. Reapers don’t just collect souls, they _guard them_. If, somehow, you’re fool enough to disconnect from your body before it’s dead, a reaper comes along to keep you safe until either the body dies or it’s determined it’ll survive and you get shunted back in. While the reaper keeps you safe, they don’t want you freaking out and starting along the road to being a poltergeist or anything we’d hunt – so they trick you. Make you think you’re in heaven and give you something nice to tide you over until what’s decided. People who don’t remember anything are the ones who don’t need to be calmed down.”

“If that’s the job of a reaper, why did one take me too early? Why am I here? I wasn’t dead!”

Bobby points toward a shelf full of binders behind the bar. “We caught your name earlier. One of the – shit, let’s call him a ‘manager’. His name’s Zachariah and he takes orders from the head honcho himself, Michael. He’s the one ordering Vaniah all over the place. Well he went  and made a deal with the demons to get ‘em to kill you.”

Castiel keeps coming back to the same question. “Why?”

“Wish we knew.” He shrugs and fixes Castiel with a look that almost borders on pity. Castiel hates it. “All we’ve got is that you’re some part of his plan to catch Sam and Dean. But if he doesn’t tell anyone, we don’t know it. Best we got is that he roped a reaper and a shepherd into doing his dirty work to make sure you got here whether you were dead or not. Now that you’re here, there’s no going back.”

No. He _refuses_ to let go of his determination. He’s going to get back to his body, to his life and to Dean whether he has to crawl through heaven, hell and purgatory to do it. There were words in Dean’s prayer that he didn’t say – words that Castiel _felt_ when Dean’s grace touched his soul. He’s not going to let a bureaucrat pull his strings. Not when he’s got Dean praying to an absent God _for him_.

“If you’re looking for a way out, giving Eden a shot is always an option.” Ash offers up from the arcade game, glancing over his shoulder. He pats Jo on the back before slouching over to the bar. “I’ve seen them talk about it sometimes. It’s the center of heaven – God’s big chair room. Whatever you want to call it.” He shrugs and leans over the bar to snatch up another can of beer.

“God wouldn’t be there.” Castiel barely manages to keep the bitter tones from his voice. “He hasn’t heard our prayers for help with the apocalypse, why would He hear our prayers for this?”

Ash raises his hand in a gesture for Castiel to wait while he fishes a bottle opener from his pocket. He uses it to punch a hole in the side of his can, tilting it to his mouth quickly and pulling the tab in one smooth motion. He downs the contents in several noisy gulps before tossing the can unerringly into a bin behind the bar.

“You weren’t listening proper. I didn’t say _God_ would be there. He said adios long before we were a twinkle in our papas’ eyes.” His grin is lopsided when he looks to Castiel. “But just because God ain’t here, just because He ain’t talking to everyone, doesn’t mean He ain’t talking to _someone_.”

Castiel takes a step toward Ash, nearly reaching out to grab him by the front of his shirt to shake the answer from him if he needs to. He has better control than that and he takes a deep breath to calm himself. “You’re saying there’s still an angel in heaven that God talks to?”

Ash raises his hand with his middle and ring finger folded down, holding it out in a kind of salute. “Ding, ding. Goes by Joshua and he’s the ‘gardener’, or something like that. If you can roadrunner your way to Eden without Wiley Zach catching you, he might be able to help. He’s the only angel I can think of who _might_ be able to get an a-okay from the Big Man that would override Zachariah and Michael’s orders.”

It’s all he’s got and Castiel is going to take it. “How do I get there?”

“You’re set on this, aren’t you?” Bobby asks slowly. He’s got a hard set to his jaw and his tone is a little more dangerous than Castiel is comfortable with. “If you leave, we can’t protect you from Zachariah. We don’t even know what the bastard is planning on using you for.”

“I’m not dead.” He repeats, grounding himself in this fact. Dean saved him. He’s alive back on Earth and he just needs a way to get back to his body – and back to Dean. “How do I get to the Garden?”

“Just follow the yellow brick road.” Ash shrugs and nods toward the door. “It’s going to be built from your memories, but they should take you there eventually.”

“Ash, stop encouraging him.” Ellen berates him as she comes back into the main room, her hands full of paper. “I let Dean know that we’ve got Castiel with us now. Unless you want to be the one to tell him that you convinced Castiel that it was a good idea to leave, you should keep your big mouth shut.”

“Please don’t tell Dean. That will just make him worry.” Castiel puts his hands on the bar, leaning over it to talk to Ellen while she puts the papers away in one of the binders. “If he finds out, he might decide to come here to help me and if Dean comes to heaven he’ll –”

“We’re not going to lie to him for you.” Bobby grumbles loudly, shoving a chair out of his way. He grabs Castiel by the arm and turns him around. “There’s been enough of that already.”

“I’m not asking you to _lie_. Dean didn’t tell me who you were to keep you safe, now I’m asking you to do the same. Don’t tell Dean what I’m doing.” Castiel covers Bobby’s hand with his own and pries it from his arm, squeezing it once before letting go. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure, boy? They’re _angels_.”

Pamela comes up behind Bobby and slings an arm over his shoulders. “If only that meant what it used to. Calm down and let him go have his adventure – he’s young, alive, and in love.”

Castiel can feel heat rise in his cheeks but he doesn’t look away from her knowing smile. He doesn’t know how her psychic abilities work or if she even still has them in heaven, but she could very well have picked up on his feelings for Dean simply from sitting beside him earlier. Unless Dean has mentioned it before in any prayers he’s made – though Castiel doesn’t think that’s something Dean would do. Judging by the surprised look Bobby gives him, it’s not something he knew before.

“Before anyone starts singing about Dean and Castiel sitting in a tree, I’d like to remind you that there’s still a shotgun back here.” Ellen announces behind him, her words punctuated with the snap of the binder rings. “I don’t want us getting all caught up in gossip. How long are you planning on sticking around, Castiel?”

“I want to get back as soon as I can.”

“Then you best be leaving before we get too attached and want to keep you around.” She gives him a warm smile, crossing her arms and leaning on the bar. “But before you go, I just got a few things to tell you. Take care of those angels and tell Dean to behave. Don’t let him push you for anything you’re not ready for.”

Jo makes a choked noise from her game. “Mom –!”

“Hush, Joanna Beth. Someone’s got to tell him what a mother never did.” Ellen waves her off, not looking away from Castiel. “And tell that brother of yours to cut back on his drinking. He’s only got one liver and if I see him up here because of it, I’ll kick his ass. Or better yet, I’ll let Jo kick it.”

Castiel can’t help his small smile. Balthazar doesn’t say it, but Castiel knows he misses his friends. They have so few of them and every year that passes sees another one gone. “I’ll be sure to let him know.”

He looks around at the familiar faces and feels a pang of regret for not having gotten to know them all better when they were alive. There’s the chance for that now, but he still has the ache inside him that he’s beginning to suspect is because of the bond he shares with Dean. It’s pulling at him and he wants to return as soon as he can. There’s too much that needs to be done, to be said and put right – starting with Dean.

The goodbyes after that are quick. Castiel shakes hands and Bobby pulls him in for another tight hug. No one says it, but Castiel knows that once he leaves he won’t be coming back – at least not until he dies again. Once he steps out the door he won’t be able to turn around and return. He can’t risk leading any angels back here. The most Castiel can do is try to keep from getting caught and hope that if he does, Zachariah doesn’t say anything to anyone. Otherwise they’ll pick it up and someone will probably pray to Dean about it and that’s the last thing that he needs.

Castiel shuts the door and stares out at the dusty lot he remembers being outside the Roadhouse. Nothing looks out of place or different or even remotely hostile. It takes him a moment to steel himself and step off the small porch. Ash told him he had to follow the road and the only road he sees now is the gravel track that – on Earth – led to the highway. He figures that’s as good as anything and he goes to it, sticking close to the tree line that runs along it. If he sees any particularly out of place lights, he can take cover in the bushes.

As he walks, Castiel thinks about everything he needs to tell Dean when he sees him again. First things first is that he needs to apologize for pushing him away. He should have talked to him about how his over protectiveness made him feel useless and weak. Being seen like that hurt, even as a human compared to an angel. It felt like Dean was invalidating everything he’s done – as a hunter and as an adult. He’s been essentially on his own since he was a teenager and he doesn’t need to be _protected_. But Castiel shouldn’t have tried to do it on his own. He would have been willing to let Dean stay around more often, to help if he needed it.

There is a lot that they’re going to have to talk about and that will only be after Castiel kisses him. He refuses to die again without sharing at least that with Dean. Where Dean is concerned, Castiel has far too many regrets and if he’s given another chance, he swears to himself – and God, if he’s still listening – that he won’t let it go to waste.

It takes him too long to notice that the landscape changed while he was walking. The gravel road slowly became asphalt under his feet. The copse of trees that had been running along the side of the road has expanded, growing to fill both sides. It seems familiar but he’s not sure why, not until he comes across a sign – Our Holy Father, Home for Children.

The orphanage. His first memory the road is taking him through is the orphanage. Castiel isn’t surprised. Some of his fondest of memories were had there. He follows the road straight to where it ends at the front gates. He pushes the gate open, slipping through. There’s nowhere else for him to go and Ash never said the road would have to specifically be a _road_. Looking around inside won’t hurt as long as he stays out of sight of the angels.

He doesn’t need much more convincing than that to head straight inside. Castiel passes one of the Sisters carrying an armful of folded sheets. She doesn’t even seem to see him, which he supposes is for the better. Everything seems so much smaller than he remembers it and he look at all the pictures on the wall he was never quite tall enough to look at properly.

When he sees Meg ducking into the dining hall, Castiel fights with himself not to chase after her although he does reach for a gun that isn’t there. She’s just a memory – not real and she might not even be a demon yet. For all he knows, she could still be human. Even if the Meg he met at The Devil’s Gate knew everything about his childhood, he knows that demons can access the memories of their stolen hosts. It would be a simple thing for her to do.

Castiel follows her anyways. The moment he notices that the lights are off is the moment he figures out which memory this is. They flick on not more than a second later with a loud cheer. It’s his eighth birthday – the September following when he was sick. This would be only a few months after the memory that Ash practically abducted him from. Everyone is laughing and approaching him, continuing to talk to empty space when he steps out of the way.

It hurts to watch everyone look so happy, knowing that they’ll be dead in a year. A dark, angry _rage_ bubbles in him when he looks at Meg standing with everyone else, grinning just as wide and even blowing into a noise maker. He steps back into a corner, watching the memory play out. A small, rueful smile pulls at his lips as he watches them gather around a cake on the table, telling an empty space to blow out the candles.

These are supposed to be his happiest memories and they’re giving him nothing but pain. Watching the only people he’s every rightly known as his family even though he knows that all but two of them are dead. He doesn’t consider Meg to be alive anymore. She’s not human and he’s not sure the vessel would survive if she’s ever removed from it.

He stays there, watching the memory until a rumbling noise takes his attention from it. Castiel staggers slightly and looks around, again reaching for a weapon that isn’t there when the lights flicker off. His memory proceeds unhindered even as the entire building starts to shake. When a bright searchlight streams through the window, he ducks into the space beside it, tucking behind the curtains.

The glass in the picture frames on the walls shatter unexpectedly and Castiel winces, covering his head as the windows next to him explode too. He can hear glass breaking everywhere and he almost laughs when his first thought is about who will have to clean it up. Instead, Castiel holds his breath and waits as the searchlight sweeps across the room and the broken glass on the floor. He can see it do the same through the hallway before it’s gone. It’s barely been a minute and everything is already back to normal.

A road. Castiel needs to look for a road. Zachariah is already looking for him. He’s caught up much faster than anticipated. If the road outside ends here, then maybe Castiel needs to find another road _inside_. It’s heaven. Nothing _has_ to make sense. Castiel glances at the pictures on the wall, looking for anything that even remotely looks like a road. He finds one in the hallway – it’s one that doesn’t look like it belongs where it is.

It’s actually a poster, one that Castiel recognizes from the room he shared at the second orphanage he went to after this one burned down. It belonged to one of his roommates and it shows a fancy car driving on an open road. Castiel touches the poster and glances around, noticing immediately that his location has changed though he didn’t feel anything like when Dean flies him places.

He doesn’t recognize this memory immediately, but from the state of the room he knows it must be from around when he was fourteen, maybe fifteen. It can’t be long before he ran away to go investigate what had happened during the fire. If he’s right, he would have skipped a few grades in school and just graduated high school. In which case, it’s very likely that this memory is –

One of his roommates bursts into the room laughing loudly and waving an envelope. “It’s here, it’s _here_. The letter came!”

It’s the memory of when he got his acceptance letter into seminary on a scholarship. Which means that tonight he’ll pack some clothes, leave a note that he’ll be attending seminary in the fall and for the summer he wants to travel. They won’t try to follow him. This was a very happy, very important day for him and Castiel watches a group of boys sit on the bed that’s specifically _his_ , opening the letter and shouting excitedly.

He never really got to know these boys. They lived together for years from when he moved here to now, a few of them getting adopted over that time, but he barely remembers their names. Castiel was too focused on studying, on getting ahead in school so he could be on his own as soon as possible. If he could graduate high school, even graduate seminary sooner than most, then he could have that all out of the way and focus on what he really wants to do.

The mystery of what happened at the orphanage plagued him for years. The memories of that time taint this one, forcing a lump into his throat. Castiel turns away from the laughter and leaves the room. He passes many boys running towards the cheering but his eyes are on the wall, looking for more roads. Nothing jumps out at him and Castiel ends up leaving the building entirely, though he doesn’t feel safe in the open.

This was a home for boys located in the middle of a city. There’s a street straight in front of him and Castiel runs down it, sticking close to the buildings and looking over his shoulder as often as he is able. No one is on the sidewalk, but he can’t take any chances. When the road comes to an abrupt end at a grassy field, the world starts to shake again. The sky goes dark and before the spotlight can appear, Castiel ducks down an alley. It’s like a back street and it’s enough for him to take it.

The uneven cement under his feet gives way to bumpy dirt. Trash cans become tombstones and Castiel staggers to a halt in the dark of a graveyard. He recognizes it just as a familiar voice calls out to him.

“Cassie?” A young Balthazar stands up from behind a nearby grave marker, an iron rod held loosely in his hand. “Is that you?”

His smile comes unbidden, relief in its edges even if he knows this is only a Balthazar from his memories and not the brother who is still alive and possibly already aware of what happened to him. Castiel doesn’t move away from this memory until after Balthazar hugs him, grinning like he hasn’t seen him do in years. He waits there until the chatting starts with the usual questions. “How have you been?” and “What are you doing here?”

That’s when Castiel slips away, sliding out of place. It’s a little unnerving that Balthazar’s eyes don’t follow him. Despite the scar on his thigh he’ll get from this hunt, it’s still one of Castiel’s best memories. It’s the first time he’s seen Balthazar since a few months before the fire. Up until this moment, Castiel always assumed that Balthazar was one of the children who went missing in the months leading up to the tragedy. Finding him here, alive and hunting and _alive_ , was one of the happiest moments of his life.

Castiel watches Balthazar talk to the air, gesturing and laughing until the ghost they’re hunting appears. Balthazar swipes at the ghost with the iron rod, sending it scattering – but only after it would have sent Castiel crashing into the metal fence that would tear up his leg.

“I already dug up the grave! If you can move, go salt and burn it. I’ll cover you!”

Castiel leaves the memory to its task, jogging across the cemetery. He’s just passing a crypt when the spotlight appears ahead of him. A silent curse escapes him and he turns, kicking open the door to the tomb. It’s heavy, but at least it’s just a memory and he doesn’t need to mutter a prayer of forgiveness for this desecration. He shuts the door most of the way, peeking through the crack to watch the spotlight sweep between the graves.

Is this going to be another matter of waiting it out or will it keep searching? He doesn’t know what it did after he ran from the street, but it’s not going anywhere right now. It keeps searching. Does Zachariah know that he hasn’t moved on from this memory yet? Castiel can’t even look around the crypt to see if there might be a road in here. It’s too dark. He’s stuck until something happens and he doesn’t know what that’s going to be.

It takes several minutes for the light to leave. At one point it sweeps toward the crypt and Castiel had to shut the door, leaning his back against it while trying to remember if there were any marks left on the door after he kicked it open. Thankfully, nothing happens and when he looks again, there’s nothing more outside than Balthazar standing smug over a grave with his arm looped over the shoulders of an invisible Castiel.

He almost makes it out to the other side of the graveyard, but stops when a heavy wooden cross catches his eye. For a moment, he berates himself for not checking all the grave markers for any roads. There’s the front bumper of a car carved into this marker, a winding road under its front wheels and growing wider until it becomes the base of the cross. Castiel approaches it, tracing his fingertips over the grain.

This is something he remembers, but it was never on a cross. It’s one of the things that Bobby once carved. When he wasn’t fixing cars or hunting, he liked to make things. Whittling, carving, and building – he was a handy man, always doing something with his hands. It’s one of the many things that Castiel picked up from him.

Sure enough, when Castiel looks up he finds himself standing just outside of Bobby’s house. There are wood carvings and several things lined up against the side of the building and towers of junk cars stacked everywhere in the yard. First he’ll try to find the road outside Singer Salvage. If that’s nothing there, then he’ll look for it elsewhere. The least important thing right now would be determining which of his memories this one is.

The car catches his attention from the corner of his eye as he’s winding his way through the piles of scrap and she’s just as Dean described her – a black beauty with chrome detailing. In this memory, she’s a little dusty and there’s a bit of rust on her bumper. Castiel’s surprised he never noticed her before. Though he’s not much of a car man, even he has to admit that the Impala is beautiful.

It wasn’t even a whole month that ago Castiel had mentioned to Balthazar about Dean’s ‘dream car’ during a conversation. He hadn’t meant anything by it at the time and he certainly didn’t expect Balthazar to say that Bobby once had one. Now that he knows Bobby is one of Dean’s contacts, Castiel realizes that this is probably the very car that Dean fell in love with. If Bobby’s heaven is his house and if Dean spent any time there, then it could be the very same car.

Perhaps that will make his Christmas present mean all that much more to Dean.

“A junkyard, Father? This is unexpected.”

Castiel turns around sharply, his stomach dropping out. There hadn’t been a spotlight or seismic activity of any kind to warn him. He’s been caught. Suits – why do all angels wear suits? This one looks like he belongs in the higher hierarchy of a Fortune 500 company, or sleazing you out of your money at a car dealership. Castiel has a feeling that he knows who this is.

“Zachariah, I presume?”

“So, you’ve heard of me!” He smiles and adjusts his tie. “From your renegade friends?”

“They’ve mentioned you once or twice.” It’s not a lie. “You’ve been looking for me?”

Zachariah’s smile falls slightly. “You’re a slippery one, Father. Here you are running from me and all I want to do is talk. We could have done this in the comfort of your heaven, but you had to get clever. Who helped you leave?”

“I can’t imagine that we have much to talk about.” He’s not likely to answer his question any time soon. Castiel looks away across the junkyard to where he knows the exit is – and hopefully the road. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy right now.”

“Are you? To me it looks like you’re just walking the Axis Mundi.” Zachariah tilts his head, eyes bright and calculating. “You wouldn’t be looking for the Garden, would you?”

He doesn’t answer. There’s little point in it. Castiel starts walking, hoping Zachariah won’t attempt to stop him. It’s a fruitless hope and he frowns heavily when Zachariah appears before him, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his pants.

“Come now, Father. A little chat, that’s all I’m asking.”

They’ve barely even begun and Castiel is already tired of this. He sighs and fixes Zachariah with his most disapproving frown. The very same look that has sent Balthazar running and made Sam and Dean flinch. Dean fondly refers to it as his ‘smite face’. “I’m not telling you anything. There’s nothing you can do or say that will convince me to betray them.”

“By ‘them’, you’re referring to – what do they go by now – Dean and Sam?”

“Who else would I be talking about?” Castiel’s hands slowly fold into fists at his sides. He won’t give him anything on them and he certainly won’t say anything about Bobby or the others. “Please move.”

“What if I make you a deal?” Zachariah offers, his smile growing again. “All I want is to talk to them, same as I want to talk to you. If you call them up here, I’ll give you something you want. How about being alive again? I could bring you back to life.”

His upper lip curls and Castiel lets his breath out in a shaky sigh. “So you’ll bring me back to life the same way you had me killed? No, thank you. My life isn’t worth theirs.”

That makes his smile slip again, a tick starting to twitch in his jaw. “Are theirs worth Father Christopher’s? I could give him back since he’s, as you put it, the only father you’ve ever known.”

Castiel shakes his head, biting back a bitter tang on the back of his tongue. It’s a tempting offer, but it’s not one that he would ever take. “He’s been dead for twenty years. How would I explain to him the missing time, or why he’s alive again? He’d hate me for it.”

Zachariah’s smile falls away completely. “What about your brother? I could give you both protection and ascension to heaven when the apocalypse starts. No matter what your little rag-tag team tries, you’re not going to beat us. Call them here and you and your brother will be kept safe.”

“I said ‘ _no_ ’.” Balthazar would never forgive him and of course Castiel would never forgive himself.

His attempt to go around Zachariah is hindered by hands on his shoulders. Two new angels, women in pantsuits and sporting matching stone faces are holding him back. Their fingers are like vices over his arms and Castiel knows from his experiences with Sam and Dean that he won’t be able to get them to let go unless they want to.

“You’re really limiting my options here, Father.” Zachariah sighs, stepping in closer. “I won’t even kill them, I promise. I just want to show Sam and Dean the error of their ways.”

“There are only so many different ways I can tell you that I’m not interested. Are you going to make me go through them all?” Castiel snaps, giving a half-hearted attempt to pull his arms free. “Will you make me say it in the other languages I know too?”

Any kind of pretense vanishes and a cold sneer pulls across Zachariah’s thin lips. Castiel knows exactly what’s coming and he rolls his eyes at the first threat. He sighs and tunes him out around the time Zachariah goes into saying something about his kidneys, continuing to try and twist his arms out of the grip of the other angels. Nothing that Zachariah could say would scare him into doing anything that would put Dean and Sam in danger. He hasn’t even mentioned yet that he doesn’t know their true names to call them to heaven.

“I’m not giving them up.” Castiel cuts him off and Zachariah’s expression goes thunderous. “Let me go.”

It takes a moment after hearing the series of snaps for the pain to full realize itself. He cries out suddenly as his legs give, broken in several places. This isn’t the first time he’s had a broken bone, but it’s still not a pain that he’s accustomed too. All it had taken was a snap of Zachariah’s fingers. Castiel doesn’t let himself entertain the idea of what else he could do. The only thing still holding him up is the two angels at his sides, their fingers digging painfully into his shoulders and arms.

“Do you see what you made me do, Father? I don’t _want_ to hurt you, but I will.” Zachariah is still sneering and it just makes Castiel hate him more. “As a gesture of solidarity –” He snaps his fingers again and the pain disappears as quickly as it came back.

Castiel wobbles slightly as he gets his feet back under him, but once he’s fully standing his stance is firm and he looks Zachariah in the eyes. “No.”

The angels at his sides let go. One of them steps away, but the other slides around to stand in front of him. He’s never been hit by an angel before and it is _not_ pleasant. Castiel staggers back into the side of the Impala, his vision swimming as he nearly goes to his knees. It was like taking a brick to the face. It hurts and he can taste blood on his tongue. If he thought it would get him more than a broken hand, Castiel would try fighting back – female vessel or not.

Zachariah pushes him upright by his shoulder, tilting Castiel’s face up with a finger under his chin. “Why won’t you just listen to me? The deals are still on the table. Take one, take them all, it’s up to you. I just want to talk with the boys.”

This doesn’t require any thought. “No.”

He only catches a small glimpse of Zachariah’s fury before he’s doubling over the other angel’s fist again, gasping for air. Zachariah pulls him to his feet once more, slamming him back against the side of the Impala hard enough for him to feel another few ribs crack. Castiel leaves him no chance to ask his question again, hissing out another ‘no’ moments before a third punch hits him. It’s followed by another, and another. Castiel can feel bones break and he can barely catch his breath, each one laced with the jagged edges of _pain_.

Whenever he has the strength, whenever he has the air for it, Castiel tells Zachariah his unchanging answer. He doesn’t waver even when the other two angels hold him pinned to the hood of the Impala with his arms spread wide and the bones in his wrists grating together under their hands.

“This is your fault, you know.” Zachariah sighs, leaning on the hood next to him and looking out across the junkyard. “If you had stayed out of it, you wouldn’t be here. If you listened to me, you wouldn’t be like this. You’ve allied yourself with traitors and now you’re suffering needlessly for it. All of this could stop if you would just let me help you, Father.” He snaps his fingers again and the pain recedes slowly as each individual bone knits back together, split skin sealing itself until Castiel can breathe freely again.

He soaks in the relief of it for only a moment. “In the words of my brother, _bite me_.”

“I didn’t want to have to do it this way.” Zachariah hisses, standing and leaning over Castiel to grab fistfuls of his shirt. “I’ve already broken enough rules trying to get those little turncoats, but hey, what’s one more in the grand scheme of things, hm?”

There are several things Castiel is expecting to happen next. None of them include having Zachariah rip his shirt open. Even if this heaven is just comprised of his memories, the air is still cool and Castiel sucks in a sharp breath. He squirms, trying to pull his arms free and kick Zachariah away. Whatever is going to happen next, he doesn’t want it and at one point he should probably put up at least some kind of fight. Nothing they do is going to get him to say ‘yes’, but that doesn’t mean he welcomes this abuse.

“Did either of them ever tell you what a claim on a human soul is usually for?” Zachariah asks carefully, snapping his fingers and pinning Castiel’s feet to the ground by an unseen force. “No? Please, allow me the honours.” He reaches out and taps Castiel’s sternum.

He looks down at his chest and for a moment he forgets what’s happening. Castiel forgets Zachariah and the angels, he forgets that he’s dead and in heaven, he forgets everything. All he can focus on is the glowing, pulsing light under his skin. It’s a circle no bigger than his palm and it's full of shifting lines that continue to move. If he could watch it for longer, maybe he’d be able to pick out a pattern.

“If I hadn’t sent that reaper as early as I did, Dean’s claim on your soul would have notified him of your passing and he would have been allowed to take your soul into his grace. It’s like a demon deal, but an angel takes the soul and makes it their own – essentially eating it and allowing them to use the soul to boost their own powers. Since you’re like little disgusting nuclear reactors and all that.” Zachariah’s smile twists cruelly and he pushes down on the light. “If you thought he put a claim on you because he _cared_ , well – I’d apologize for bursting your bubble, but I’m not all that sorry.”

Castiel closes his eyes and ignores his words. Zachariah didn’t touch Dean’s grace. He didn’t have it sing against his soul. As surely as Dean felt how Castiel feels, Castiel felt the same from him and there was nothing deceptive in that touch. Zachariah has done nothing but try and use him since he got here and Castiel will _not_ let him warp his mind against Dean.

“Do you even know how hard it was to convince a reaper to take a marked soul? At least the shepherd was already under my thumb – but those _reapers_. They’re practically unionized under Death. It’s a nightmare, really.”

“Go to _hell_.” Castiel spits, trying to twist away from Zachariah’s hand.

“I could send you there after I’m done, if you’d like. We won’t need you afterward.” He presses his hand flat over the mark, holding Castiel firmly against the hood of the Impala.

Fear chokes him, coiling tight in his chest and knotting at the base of his throat. Castiel doesn’t know what Zachariah is about to do, but the claim Dean left is an ache deep inside and he doesn’t want Zachariah touching it. The bond is the only thing he has connecting him to Dean and he doesn’t want to think about how that could be manipulated against them.

“We could have done this the easy way.” Zachariah says softly, spreading his fingers to cover the whole mark. “Now it’s going to hurt like a bitch for both you _and_ Dean. Being forcibly summoned back to heaven like this isn’t going to be pretty. His vessel might not survive.” His grin and all too happy tone don’t match his words.

“No!” The word tears from him, visceral and terrified. “Don’t –!” Nothing else makes it past the scream. The pain surges through him to his very core, eating away at him – just like the time Dean touched it. But this is so much worse than that. Their bond is being perverted, twisted and used against them and he can’t stand it.

And just like that, the pain is gone again and he’s not being held down anymore. Castiel gasps for breath as he slides from the hood of the Impala to kneel in the dirt, one hand pressed against the light still shimmering under his skin. It didn’t feel like it lasted for very long - a few seconds? A minute at most? How long was it supposed to take? He’s scared to look up, scared to see if Dean is there. If he is, Castiel wouldn’t be able to look at him anyway, not if his vessel was mangled beyond repair.

He barely manages not to flinch when Zachariah’s angry voice pierces the haze left in his head from the pain. “I’m _busy_.”

“I’m aware. But I need to have a word with him.” It’s a voice Castiel doesn’t recognize and when he looks up there’s a dark-skinned older man standing next to Zachariah. He’s the first angel – if that’s what he is – that Castiel has seen who isn’t wearing a suit. He’s dressed in an overly large, very comfortable looking sweater.

Zachariah looks affronted at being interrupted, but there’s a tenseness in his body that hadn’t been there before. It’s like he’s wary of this new angel and he’s trying not to show it. “It’s a bad time.” He grinds out between his teeth. “I was just about to –”

“I’m afraid I have to insist. You see, _He_ needs to speak to him.”

The blood drains from Zachariah’s face and he opens his mouth. Anything he might say is never said as the angel in the sweater lifts one hand and snaps his fingers. Castiel blinks slowly, looking around at the sudden change of scenery. It’s a forest and judging from the sheer _size_ of the trees, it can only be alien. They tower as tall as some skyscrapers, and as thick around too. Their roots rise up out of the ground like walls, creating valleys and mountains in the dirt.

Best of all, Zachariah and his minions are nowhere to be seen. Castiel is left alone with this newcomer angel and his graying hair. He’s watching Castiel with a small, almost sad smile as he backs up a few steps to sit on one of the lower roots.

“You don’t recognize it?”

Castiel stands slowly. The moment he takes his hand from his chest, his shirt is fixed once again. It’s unnerving, but not as uncomfortable as walking around with his chest exposed. “Are you Joshua? Is this the Garden?”

“I am. And it is.” Joshua nods. “I’m surprised you don’t recognize it though. You grew up here.”

He frowns and glances around at the forest. No trees have looked this big to him since he was a child. Back then, the forest that surrounded the orphanage had seemed huge – giant beyond compare. There were whole summers where he spent days searching through the roots hunting for fairies with the others, or pretending to be any manner of magical creature. The forest had been a place of enchantment for them. Once they left the courtyard, they could be anyone, be anything. It was a different world – _an alien world_.

Joshua’s smile grows, as if he knows what Castiel just realized. He tilts his head towards the nearest tree. “Balthazar carved everyone’s names there, didn’t he?”

Castiel picks his way over the rocks to the base of one of the trees. He’s long since stopped wondering how angels know things they haven’t been told. Sure enough, there in the crook of one of the roots, are the crudely carved names of his brothers and sisters – most of them lost before or after the fire. He traces the letters and remembers the day they stood here and swore a pact to be friends forever. The closeness he had with them is something he hasn’t had again and Castiel realizes, with a sharp regret, how lonely he’s felt since the fire.

Having Balthazar alleviated some of it, but now he has Dean and Sam too. With the three of them, he hasn’t felt nearly as alone as he once did. Those thoughts only renew his desire to return to his life and Castiel turns to find Joshua still watching him.

“Can you send me home?”

Joshua raises an eyebrow. “You’re speaking with the only angel in heaven that God still talks to and all you’re asking for is how to get back to Kansas?”

“I live in Illinois.” Castiel corrects him while carefully making his way back to where Joshua is sitting. “The only questions I have for God are ones I doubt you – or He – would answer.”

He doesn’t shift under the scrutinizing look he receives as Joshua laces his fingers together and rests his chin on them, his elbows on his knees. “You were certainly cut from a different cloth, Castiel Collins. When God told me you were coming, I thought for sure you were going to ask where He’s been. But when faced with all the answers to any question, you just want to go home.”

“Yes, please.”

“Why?”

“You’re asking me for an answer you already know.” Castiel looks away briefly, glancing around at the forest again. “Please just tell me if it’s possible for God, or you, to send me back.”

“It is. But you can’t go back before I give you a message for Sam and Dean.” Joshua stands up slowly, slapping at his pants to knock away dust. The look he gives Castiel is one of understanding and sadness, and it makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He closes his eyes, trying to block out the words before Joshua even starts speaking again. “They’ll never find Him. He doesn’t want to be found and the amulet isn’t going to work if He doesn’t want it to.”

Castiel takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to keep himself centered even when he can feel his throat get tight and tears sting behind his eyes. The question he doesn't want to ask is heavy and bitter on his tongue as he forces it out. “Why?”

“God knows what the angels are doing. He knows about the apocalypse and He doesn't care.” Joshua sighs, giving Castiel that pitying look again. Each word is another chip from Castiel's foundations, from everything that he's built his life on. “He's left the world in the hands of all His children and they can follow whatever plan they want – whether it's His or not.”

He can feel himself crumbling. Something inside his chest is caving in on itself, falling apart and shattering in the face of this news. Castiel always believed in God. He never put his full faith in more than he could touch, and taste and see, but he never stopped believing in God because he needed it. Belief and reality are two very different things and when Castiel was faced with _proof_ of God's existence, when he met Sam and Dean, even after finding out that God had left heaven – he had put more of his faith into God.

They had believed God could save them. They had believed if they could find him, God _would_ save them. As a reward for their hard work or finally as an answer to their prayers, but the result was always the same. They put their faith in God. Him, Dean, Sam, and probably Balthazar too in some small part. Now they’re – now what hope do they have?

“But what about Dean?” Castiel’s voice sounds hoarse to his ears, trembling at its edges. “He’s prayed to God – to end the apocalypse, to help me. Dean’s been a good son and he’s never asked anything for himself. Him and Sam both. They’re doing what they know is right, what _God_ taught them to do. And He won’t listen to them? He won’t answer Dean’s prayers?”

Joshua’s tilts his head and he has that sad smile again. “He’s returning you, isn’t he?”

It’s not exactly what Castiel wanted to hear, but it still hits him hard in the chest. Why him? Why would God choose to return him instead of saving millions of lives? What makes _him_ so special? It can’t be just because Dean is asking to save him. There has to be another reason. There has to be _more_. All the questions he didn’t want to ask before are pushing together, rushing to get out. But Joshua is already raising his hand, the pads of his thumb and middle fingers held together.

Castiel doesn’t even hear the snap. A light, brighter than any he’s ever seen, spills from behind Joshua. It swallows the forest and the sounds he hadn’t even noticed before, but once they’re gone Castiel feels deafened. The light consumes him, fills him and empties him. It blazes through skin, muscle, and bone until there is nothing left by that all knowing, all-encompassing _light_.

He sits up with a sharp gasp, heaving air into lungs that don’t feel deprived of it but still feel like they haven’t had enough. Nothing hurts but Castiel still grabs at the front of his shirt, fingers curling tightly in the fabric as he doubles over and _breathes_. The memories are still fresh in his mind, but they feel distant – almost like they were a dream. But he knows better than that. Castiel knows deep in his soul, where the pieces of him are scattered until he can stop and think to put himself back together again, that Joshua returned him.

With the sudden shock of being returned to his body, it’s perhaps understandable that it takes Castiel a moment to realize only one of his hands is pressed against his chest. The other is being squeezed almost painfully tight and he can feel beads digging into his fingers and palm. He looks up and his already fast pulse turns erratic when he meets Dean’s wide, unbelieving eyes, watching him from where he’s kneeling next to the bed.

“Dean.” Castiel breathes his name and it’s all it takes to snap Dean out of his surprise.

That ache in his soul is gone again as Dean scrambles onto the mattress, almost sitting in his lap as he wraps Castiel in a tight hug. He doesn’t hesitate to return it in kind. Castiel folds his arms around him, Dean’s rosary still hanging from his hand as he grabs fistfuls of his shirt and buries his face against the side of his neck, breathing him in. Dean smells like home with a hint of storms and powers and everything otherworldly that Castiel loves about him.

This is his second chance.

Dean sits back slowly, his hand dragging forward from being buried in Castiel’s hair to fit against his cheek. There’s a relief in his eyes that doesn’t match the stern set of his jaw. “ _Never_ do that again.”

He says it firmly in an almost desperate whisper and Castiel can only nod as his hand slides to Dean’s shoulder, squeezing tightly to reassure them both that he’s here. “Alright.”

The tension seeps out of Dean slowly and he rubs his thumb over Castiel’s cheek. It’s a tender touch, but it’s not enough to cause the goosebumps that spread along his arms and shoulders. He doesn’t need the glasses to know that it’s Dean’s wings. That’s something else that he needs to add to his list of things he has to tell Dean. Castiel mentally adds it and licks his lips, preparing to say the first thing on the list.

Dean’s eyes drop to Castiel’s mouth, tracking the small flick of his tongue over his top and bottom lip. He mirrors the movement and Castiel can’t help watching it too. When he looks up, Dean is looking at him again and he knows he’s been caught out for staring too – and he doesn’t care. This is his second – no. It’s his _third_ chance. He’s been given more chances than most and he isn’t going to waste it again with over thinking.

Castiel squeezes Dean’s shoulder again and flicks a quick glance down at Dean’s lips once more. It’s a purposeful look, one he wants Dean to see so he knows exactly why he’s leaning forward. He can practically feel the inhale as Dean realizes his intentions and he holds Dean’s eyes with his.

The crash in the kitchen has both of them pulling away in surprise, looking toward the door in sync. One of the chairs is knocked over, shoved back too quickly from what Castiel can tell. Balthazar is standing with both his hands planted on the table and his eyes are wide, staring through the open bedroom door at them.

“You bastard.” Balthazar hisses, just loud enough to be heard. “You fucking _stupid_ bastard.”

For a brief, terrifying moment, Castiel thinks Balthazar is angry that he was about to kiss Dean. But there’s no anger in his brother. Instead, Balthazar looks relieved – slightly drunk, but not unhappy. Sam steps into view before Balthazar even moves from the table, looking confused until he sees Castiel sitting upright. A wide, bright smile fills his face and he quickly ducks into the bedroom to make room as Balthazar finally moves.

“If you ever, _ever_ , pull anything like this again –” Balthazar’s hands are shaking when he grabs Castiel by the arm, clumsily and unceremoniously pulling him up from the bed. “I’ll kill you myself, you insensitive twit. Do you know how badly we – you _bloody_ _Idiot_.”

“I’m sorry.” Castiel says softly, hugging back just as tightly as Balthazar does him. “It was completely unintentional, I assure you.”

Sam puts a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently as he smiles at him over Balthazar’s shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Cas. If you’d taken any longer, Dean might have actually started helping with researching to find a way to break into heaven.”

“Shut up, Sammy. You got the message same as I did that the gang had Cas and he was safe.” Dean grumbles from the bed, not getting up.

“Who had him?” Balthazar asks, pulling out of the hug. “Were you really in heaven, Cassie? Wait - if we’re going to have a story, let me get you a cup of coffee. You’ve been out for a few hours and we just made a fresh batch. I promise there’s no booze in this one.”

Coffee sounds tempting. Castiel doesn’t feel physically tired, but he can feel mental exhaustion pulling at the edges of his mind. He wants to stop thinking for a while. It would be nice to run a hot shower and let the water wash away his worries. It would be even nicer to just sit with Dean, to lean against him and ground himself in his presence. At least one of those is possible now and he takes a step back to the bed, sitting down next to Dean on the edge.

“Maybe I’ll have a coffee afterward.” Castiel sighs, looking down at his hands in his lap and realizing that he’s still holding Dean’s rosary. “I’d rather tell you what happened right now without any distractions, while everything is still fresh in my mind.” Though it’s not like he’ll forget those events any time soon.

He slides a little closer to Dean, making room on the bed for Balthazar to sit too. Sam seems perfectly happy to lean against the edge of the bookcase with his arms crossed loosely. Castiel might be sitting a little closer than necessary to Dean, but he doesn’t care and Dean doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t even object when Castiel takes his wrist, holding it while he gently wraps the rosary around it again.

The urge to continue holding Dean’s wrist, or to slide his hand down to fit his fingers between Dean’s is strong and Castiel resists it. He lets go reluctantly, but their arms brush and their shoulders touch whenever Castiel moves as he recounts what happened from the earliest moment he can remember of his time in heaven. With what he’s about to tell them, perhaps it’s not the most appropriate time for hand holding.

It’s only at Balthazar’s insistence and with Dean’s begrudging permission that he reveals who ‘had’ him. He relays Ellen’s message and Balthazar’s laugh is happy, but somehow sad. That’s the only time Balthazar leaves the room before Castiel’s story is done. He comes back with a mug that smells more of alcohol than it does coffee and Castiel doesn’t blame him for it.

When Castiel starts talking about Zachariah and what he did in Bobby’s scrap yard, Dean goes very still and the air n the room changes. Even Sam’s soft edges turn hard and Castiel can only imagine how their wings are reacting now. If he had the glasses on, he would likely be seeing them spread wide and blazing with light – like Dean’s had been in the parking lot after the seal at the hospital. Dean is leaning back on his hands and he’s glaring across the room at the bookcase. He doesn’t relax until Castiel shifts slightly, leaning into his side a little more. It’s just a small movement but that thick tension in the air vanishes.

“He was going to use our bond to call you to heaven.” Castiel puts a hand to his chest. If he concentrates, it’s almost like he can feel the phantom dregs of the pain when Zachariah had touched it. “You didn’t feel anything, did you?”

Dean leans his weight onto his left hand so he can reach up and touch his shoulder. It seems like an absent gesture and Castiel wonders how often he’s done it over the weeks since they saw each other last. “I didn’t feel anything. There was just a – a kind of _emptiness_ where the claim used to be in my grace.” He shrugs and glances at Castiel. “It takes a little bit for spells cast in heaven to take effect on Earth. How long was he casting it?”

“I don’t think it was even a whole minute before Joshua interrupted.” Castiel doesn’t even think twice about saying the name but Dean and Sam both start sharply at it.

Sam takes a few steps away from the bookcase, mouth opening and closing a couple times before he says anything. “Joshua actually _left_ the Garden?”

Dean twists to face him, grabbing Castiel’s shoulder to turn him too. “Cas, for all that is good and holy, _please_ tell me you were your usual smarty-pants self and asked him if he knows where God is.”

“I didn’t ask him.” Castiel says slowly, looking away when Dean’s expression falls. He doesn’t want to tell them. He doesn’t want to break their hope and their faith in their Father like his did when Joshua told him. “I didn’t have to.”

“What did he say?” Dean’s grip goes tight and Castiel can’t bring himself to look up again.

He stares down at his hands and swallows around that ever present tightness in his throat. It’s pressing in on his ribs, tightening around his lungs and making it hard to get out the message Joshua gave to him. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, the room goes silent. Castiel can’t even hear anyone breathing and he realizes even he is holding his breath.

“I _knew_ it.” Sam hisses and Castiel looks up in time to see the quiet anger stamped in the lines of his face. He catches the way Sam’s hands tremble slightly at his sides in the brief moment before he disappears with the rustling flap of his wings.

“Fuck it.” Balthazar grunts, getting to his feet. “If we’re going to lose no matter what, I might as well die with my liver shot to hell.”

Castiel watches him leave the room, his shoulders slumped. He’s never seen Balthazar look so defeated and it’s like a physical pain for him, boiling deep in his stomach with the rest of this mess. He’s too tired to feel angry right now, but he knows he is. Angry at God for leaving them this mess; angry at the angels for choosing Armageddon when there’s so many better thing they could do; and angry at Joshua for making him be the one to tell them this. He’s angry at himself too, but he had his time in heaven to come to terms with that one already.

It takes another few minutes of listening to Balthazar bang around in the kitchen before Castiel has the courage to look at Dean. He’s just staring blankly at the wall, barely breathing, hardly even moving. For a moment, Castiel worries that Dean abandoned his vessel. He doesn’t know if an angel can enter or leave a vessel without being noticed but Dean still has his hand on his shoulder and his grip is tight enough to leave bruises.

“Dean?” Castiel says softly, reaching up to touch his wrist just shy of the rosary.

Whether it’s his voice or his touch that does it, Castiel doesn’t know, but one of them snaps Dean back to reality. His eyes focus and harden as the air starts to vibrate and Dean wrenches himself away with a frustrated, angry noise. Castiel doesn’t move, watching him pace across the room. Dean stops short in front of the closet and pulls the necklace off in a violent motion that snaps the cord. He sneers at the pendant, muttering something in a language Castiel doesn’t recognize before he throws it.

Castiel winces as the small pendant dents the wall, although he should probably thank Dean for not throwing it hard enough to punch a hole through into the bathroom. Seeing Dean like this, angry and unable to hold still, it makes it easy for Castiel to bury his own upset. He can deal with his own feelings of guilt and all that it entails later. Right now, he needs to help Dean.

His legs feel a little weak when he stands, but he doesn’t wobble when he slips past Dean and out into the – thankfully blood free – kitchen. Balthazar is standing in front of the sink. He’s bypassed any form of cup and is drinking straight from the bottle now. Castiel takes notice of how all his notes, maps, and everything he had pinned to the stairwell has been carefully moved to the wall above the bookcases. There are books scattered across the table and counters too, and something warm manages to sneak its way into his chest at the sheer amount of work that Sam and Balthazar had done just for him.

As soon as Balthazar stops to take a breath, Castiel pulls the bottle from his hand. “Remember what Ellen promised.”

“What does it matter, Cassie? We’re fucked six ways from Sunday anyways.” He mumbles, swiping a hand across his mouth. “If we’re going to die, might as well go out with a bang. Let’s go find a bar and a couple hookers. You could finally pop that cherry and have some _fun_ –”

The glass of the bottle nearly cracks for how hard Castiel brings it down on the counter. At least it silences Balthazar. Castiel feels no better than he does – he feels hopeless, but he’s not entirely lost. Not like Balthazar seems to be. He had his faith in God and now that’s gone, but God wasn’t the only person Castiel believed in. For months now he’s been putting more and more of his faith into Sam and Dean too. Maybe now this is the push he needs to believe in more.

Castiel is a priest – a shepherd for those who are lost. If it’s his family, however small it may be, that needs guidance now, then he’ll do what he has always done. He’ll help them.

“Go to bed, Balthazar.” He says firmly, upending the bottle over the sink. “I need to talk to Dean and you need to get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning when you’re not so drunk.”

“What’s the point of _talking_?” Balthazar laughs and it’s a small, humourless sound. “If you’re going to lock yourself up in your room with that bastard, you might as well do something enjoyable. I still say a hooker would be better for you than _him_.”

Sighing, Castiel takes Balthazar’s arm and turns him toward the basement. “Your cot is still set up. Go. I know for a fact there isn’t any alcohol down there. If I hear you come back upstairs, I’ll get out my shotgun and I won’t miss.”

“You wouldn’t shoot me, Cassie.”

“I would with rock salt. Now go.”

Balthazar stops on the top step, swaying slightly. “It isn’t fair. We’re like roaches to them, aren’t we? Bugs they can squash without a second thought. Where’s the justice in that?” He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Cassie. I just –”

“Go get some sleep. We’ll be able to talk better in the morning.” Castiel waves him off, watching him go down the stairs before he shuts the door.

Dean is still pacing when he returns to the bedroom and he shuts that door too. They don’t need the extra privacy, but closed doors have always brought him a measure of peace when he needs it. Castiel leans against the wood and watches Dean make another few rounds of the room before he places himself front of him. It’s enough to bring him to a stop, though he’s trembling lightly and he won’t look up from the floor.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks slowly, reaching out to run a hand from his elbow to his wrist. Allowing himself to touch Dean now after refusing it for months is both refreshing and relieving. Now isn’t the time for a weight to come off his mind, but Castiel relishes the moment.

He doesn’t get an answer and Castiel drops his touch to Dean’s hand, squeezing his fingers lightly. “Look at me, Dean.”

Any enjoyment he took from the simple touch evaporates as soon as he sees the devastation in Dean’s eyes. There’s heartbreak and defeat and so much pain, Castiel can barely look at it as Dean’s expression crumples and he almost seems to shrink in on himself. He sags forward, dropping his forehead to Castiel’s shoulder. Automatically he raises his arms to wrap them around him.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” He whispers, hugging him tightly as Dean slowly moves to sling his arms around Castiel’s waist. “If I could have, I would never have told you that.”

Dean takes a ragged breath against his neck and a fine tremor shakes through him. His voice is broken when he speaks. “I believed in Him. Cas, I –” He shakes again and Castiel holds him tighter, quietly hating God for the pain He’s putting His children through.

Carefully, he moves them back to sit on the bed and Dean sinks to the mattress, staring at the floor between his feet. “What do I do now, Cas? If He doesn’t give a flying fuck about us, what do I do?”

He muses on his answer for a few minutes as he guides Dean to lean against him. Now that he’s let himself touch Dean, it’s an addiction. He’s warm under his hand and Castiel keeps an arm around Dean’s shoulder as they sit together until he has a decent answer.

“Do the same as you’ve done so far.” He starts slowly, working through the words. “It wasn’t God stopping the seals and smiting demons, it was _you_. You and Sam. Now that we know He’s a lost cause, don’t waste your faith on Him anymore. Have faith in yourself. Believe in me, in Sam, and in Balthazar. We’ll find a way out of this.”

“What if we don’t?”

Castiel shrugs. “I believe you would say that we would ‘go down swinging’, if I’m using that correctly.”

Dean makes a small noise, a weak excuse of a laugh and turns to him again. The positioning of the hug is awkward and Castiel doesn’t think twice about leaning back, pulling Dean with him to stretch on the bed, shoving the blanket out of the way as he does just so he can pull it over them. Like a child he uses it to shield them from all the bad in the world for now.

It shouldn’t be possible to feel this comfortable with another person in his bed, tucked against his chest and breathing warm air against his neck – but it is. Castiel hopes it won’t be as addicting as simply touching Dean is. Even just that is proving difficult to control. His hands seem to have a mind of their own at the moment. Dean is mostly laying on Castiel’s right arm, leaving his left to firmly wrapped around Dean’s back to keep him against his chest. His other hand seems to have a fascination with Dean’s hair, carding through the short strands in a soothing, repetitive motion.

Physical comfort is almost a foreign concept to Castiel, and yet he finds himself greatly enjoying it despite how he’s doing it for Dean’s benefit. He hasn’t given more than a hand on the shoulder to most people – not even to Balthazar, and really, he doesn’t _want_ to let anyone but Dean get this close. This is something new and something only for Dean, and Castiel wants to share that with him.

His mind wanders while they lay there together. It drifts to a point where he’s bordering on falling asleep. When Dean finally moves, Castiel makes a soft sound of complaint as he pulls away. Dean doesn’t go far, but it still leaves a line of cold all down his side and Castiel turns onto his side to face him properly, slipping a little lower down the bed so they’re lying face to face. Their feet are pressed together and he vaguely realizes that they’re both still wearing their shoes. He takes a moment to toe his off and nudge Dean’s knee until he does the same.

Dean is watching him across the pillow and there’s a question in his eyes that Castiel can’t read. They have a foot of space between them and he wants to close it like he wasn’t able to do earlier, but this wouldn’t be a kiss in the heat of a moment of relief. There are too many words that need to be said right now. First and foremost is an apology.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, almost at the exact moment that Dean says the same.

Confusion etches lines into Dean’s forehead. “What are you –”

Castiel silences him with a finger against his lips. If he lets Dean speak now, he might never get out everything that needs to be said. “I’m sorry for kicking you out like I did. I never should have warded my home against you. I needed my time to think, but I could have done that without barring you from here instead of trying to talk everything out with you.”

He takes a deep breath, not looking away from the comprehension dawning in Dean’s eyes. “I was hurt and, to be completely honest, my pride was a little wounded. I’m a hunter and a grown man. I don’t want a _protector_. What I want, what I need, is a _partner_ – someone who’ll treat me as their equal. I would like that someone to be _you_ , Dean.”

A moment of silence follows before Dean reaches up to pull Castiel’s hand away. Their hands settle together in the space between them, Dean’s palm warm against the back of Castiel’s hand. He spreads his fingers to make room for Dean’s between them and it feels just as natural to have them there as it does for them to lay together.

Castiel sighs again, but it’s one of relief. This is another piece of what’s been missing, another stone picked up from the ruin heaven left in him. He smiles softly and squeezes Dean’s fingers. “I missed you.”

Dean’s other hand is caught between them, curled in the front of Castiel’s shirt like how Castiel’s arm is still under his head, though he’s stopped running his fingers through Dean’s hair. He tugs Castiel a little closer, close enough that he can feel each breath Dean takes when he speaks.

“I missed you too, Cas. So much. And –” Dean stops to take a deep breath, eyes sliding shut until he’s ready. “I didn’t mean what I said. Not the way that I said it or meaning to hurt your or anything. I – It’s not that I think you’re weak, coz’ you’re not. You’re strong, Cas, and not just physically. You’re – It’s – Your mortality keeps getting shoved in my face and it’s fucking terrifying.”

Each word, each sentence, adds to the feeling blowing up inside Castiel’s chest. It feels like he’s being filled with helium, so light that he’s not sure how he’s still breathing. Castiel doesn’t even know how he’s still hearing Dean’s voice over the rapid beat of his own heart.

“I don’t want to lose you, Cas. I want to keep you safe because you mean – because I –” He makes a frustrated noise as he stumbles over his words. “You mean a hell of a lot to me, Cas, and if you don’t let me kiss you after this I might just ex –”

Castiel pulls his hand out from under Dean’s, cupping his jaw and kissing him before he’s finished talking. It’s the first kiss he’s ever given, but he doesn’t worry if he’s pushing too hard or too gently, or if he’s a little off center. He knows that Dean doesn’t mind and his proof is in the quiet groan Dean makes against his lips.

His hand slips to the back of Dean’s neck and Castiel pulls away just far enough to speak. “I know.” He presses another kiss to Dean’s mouth, amused by how Dean leans after him when he pulls back again. “I saw your prayer.” Castiel slowly props himself up on his elbow, sliding his arm out from under Dean’s head as he presses soft kisses to his mouth between every other word. “I’ve been given more chances than most.” He moves his hand from Dean’s jaw to his hair. “And almost dying twice tends to put priorities into perspective.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Dean murmurs, sliding a hand under Castiel’s side and up his back to pull him closer, the other settling on his hip. “Almost losing you twice kinda does that too.”

There are no more words after that and Castiel gives himself to every sensation his body can afford him, reveling in the moment. Dean’s lips are soft and gentle, moving against his own with all the experience Castiel doesn’t have. He can feel the ghostly skin-tingling of Dean’s wings against his arms and back, even over his legs and it only adds to the affect the kisses have on him. It’s like falling up instead of down, tumbling head over heels. The kisses leave him giddy, craving more before they’re even done.

It’s instinct and every open mouthed kiss he's ever seen on TV and in the movies that guides him to push both his hands into Dean’s hair. Castiel tilts his head just slightly and carefully traces Dean’s bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. The small touch earns him another groan wrapped around a quiet curse and his name. Dean’s grip on his hip tightens and it’s the only warning Castiel gets before he forgets the rest of the world and wonders how he ever went this long without knowing what kissing was like – though he has no desire to test to see if kissing anyone else has the same effect on him as kissing Dean does.

With each kiss, Dean pushes him back until he’s the one above Castiel. He doesn’t mind, it leaves him free to slide his hands through Dean’s hair, over his shoulders and along his back. Castiel keeps his hands away from Dean’s waist and hips, not sure what will happen if he lets his touch stray there. Anything that would follow that might be more than he’s ready for just yet.

He’s aware of the heat building in his body, tingling along his limbs to curl warm in his belly. It feels so good and he doesn’t want it to stop, he doesn’t want anything else but Dean’s mouth and hands and – Castiel breaks from the kiss with a strangled gasp when Dean slips a leg between his own and leans more heavily on top of him.

Dean goes still above him and he looks _debauched_. If Castiel wasn’t panting for every breath and fighting the desire to roll his hips and rub himself against Dean’s thigh, he might have laughed at the very idea that an _angel_ could look like that. His hair is a mess from the countless passes of Castiel’s fingers through it. His lips are kiss swollen and bitten red from when he tried copying the things Dean was doing to him. They’re wet and tempting and Castiel can still taste him on his tongue. He closes his eyes before he decides to lean up and continue what they started.

“You’re not ready yet.” Dean says softly and he shifts away – not far enough that Castiel doesn’t immediately want to draw him back in, but just enough that he can breathe and start to think again.

He’s right. Castiel isn’t ready for anything more than the kisses right now. Even if his faith in God is shattered, there are still the vows he made to the Church – the rules that he’s lived his entire life by. He’s been trying not to think of them up till now since he realized his attraction to Dean, though it probably would have been better if he had done that ahead of time. Maybe they wouldn’t be stopping right now if he’d done that, or maybe they never would have reached this point at all.

His hand moves to his throat and the clerical collar still in place. It’s a reminder that he hasn’t changed his clothes yet, and it grounds him in his decision to stop right now. This is only the first time they’ve kissed. They don’t need to rush and do everything now. They can take their time to learn one another properly while Castiel sorts out the doctrines of the Church that he’ll adhere to now that his faith in God is almost nonexistent.  

Dean glances down at Castiel’s throat and, presumably, the collar. He raises one eyebrow and slants a smirk at him. “Would it help your internal debate if I told you that all those ‘laws of the Church’ were created by man and not God?”

“It will help, I’m sure. _Later_.” Castiel’s laughs and shoves at Dean’s shoulder, pushing him back enough for him to sit up and kick the blanket off.

It’s late and going to bed now seems as good as any time. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to fall asleep fast enough that he’ll still have the memories of kissing Dean fresh enough in his mind that he won’t have the time to think about everything else that happened today.

He gets to his feet and muffles a yawn under his hand as he goes to the closet in search of his pajamas. When he turns around with a matching set in hand, Dean is sitting up on the bed with one leg folded under him and the other dangling over the side. He’s not even looking at Castiel anymore, staring instead at the dresser with unfocused eyes.

“Are you talking to Sam?” He asks while pulling the clerical collar off and putting it on top of the dresser.

Dean hums an answer and Castiel leaves him to it. He checks the basement to make sure that Balthazar is sleeping before he changes in the bathroom and brushes his teeth. By the time he returns to the bedroom, Dean has moved from the bed to the chair, slumped sideways in it and staring at the ceiling.

“Sam says he’ll be back for Christmas.” He announces as soon as Castiel is back in the room. “He just needs some time to cool down. We’ll start stopping seals again when he’s okay.”

“You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need, Dean. Even between seals.” Castiel tosses his clothes in the hamper and smiles softly when Dean turns his attention to him. “I enjoy having you here.”

“I enjoy being here.” Dean grins, standing up and sliding into Castiel’s personal space.

He leans into Dean automatically, arms circling his waist with an ease as if he’s done it a hundred times before. There’s no hesitation with this kiss either, but Castiel keeps it short and sweet. The last thing he needs is to get worked up again before going to bed. Dean moves their shoes from the end of the bed while Castiel fixes the blanket and he hangs around the door as Castiel sets the alarm and checks his cell phone for any missed messages.

“So, I’ll – I guess I’ll see you in the morning then.” Dean rubs a hand over the back of his neck and glances out into the kitchen. “I’ll make sure to have some coffee ready for you.”

Castiel puts his phone down and goes to the dresser, pulling out a pair of Dean’s sweat pants and a t-shirt. Dean looks at him curiously when he shoves them into his arms.

“Stay.” He says softly before returning to the bed and sliding under the covers. With his back to the door and the rushed, shuffling sound of clothing behind removed, Castiel edges across the bed until he’s almost flush against the wall, waiting.

The light flicks off and the mattress dips as Dean climbs in behind him. As soon as the blanket is settled, Castiel rolls over and curls against his side. Dean makes room for him, his arm curling around his shoulders after he pulls the blanket up properly. They get comfortable, quickly finding how they fit together like this. The goosebumps spread down his back again and it’s quickly becoming a calming sensation for Castiel.

“Can I ask why?” Dean says softly, his fingers finding their way into Castiel’s hair. It feels surprisingly good and he makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat. “I’m not complaining about this. Just – how come you’re okay with all this now?”

“Priorities.” Castiel mumbles against his shoulder, muffling another yawn into his shirt. “Will you be bored staying here all night?”

“Nah, I can meditate if I want. I’m good at spacing out when I need to.” Dean presses a kiss to his forehead. “Get some sleep, Cas. I’ll be here in the morning.”

That thought keeps Castiel smiling even as he succumbs to a deep, dreamless sleep. When he wakes to his alarm, he feels comfortable, warm, and most of all _safe_. It is, quite possible, the best sleep of his life. Even taking into account all the ones of his childhood. A sleep like that is rarely had by most hunters and with the events of late, Castiel was slightly worried he would have trouble sleeping at all. He doesn’t doubt that sleeping next to an angel played some part in it.

Even if Dean did something to make him sleep so well, Castiel doesn’t mind. Waking up next to Dean is something he thinks he could get used to. This is one of the few mornings he can remember where he would probably be able to face the day without coffee – though he still feels the groggy fingers of the morning dragging at his thoughts.

He yawns and stretches against Dean’s side, opening his eyes in time to see him reach out and swat the snooze button on the alarm. Another yawn shakes through him and Castiel lifts his head, blinking blearily up at Dean. He’s staring at the ceiling again, but glances down the moment he notices that Castiel is watching him.

“Mornin’ sunshine.” He grins, lifting his head to kiss him.

Castiel reaches up and covers his mouth, a smile of his own playing over his lips. “Coffee first. Annoying angels and kisses later.” Despite that, he still props himself up on his elbow and leans into the hand Dean puts to his cheek as he kisses him good morning.


	11. Happy Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re family.” He replies without hesitation, watching Sam’s smile grow. “The holidays are a time for family and you’re always welcome here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Pappcave's Reverse!Verse](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/Papp%27s-reverse%21verse). Papp has written a few things for it already (found at the link above) - part of Castiel's past included. 
> 
> And he was nice enough to do extra art for this fic too! Go give him some love!
> 
>  
> 
> **Updates the 15th and 30th of every month until the story is complete. And no, I'm sorry, I don't know how long it will be. For chapter statuses and information, please[check here.](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hunting+for+faith)**

To err on the side of caution, Castiel’s morning shower is kept cold. Before the water washes it away, Castiel can still taste Dean on his lips from their morning kisses. Despite the lack of coffee, Castiel had stayed in bed and kissed Dean until the snooze timer had gone off on his alarm again. He tilts his head back under the spray to wash out the shampoo and smiles at the memory of Dean’s tight hug – his attempt at trying to keep Castiel from getting out of bed and proceeding with the day.

If every time he wakes up is like that, Castiel might not need coffee anymore to lighten his early morning disposition. But of course that isn’t true. He’s barely finished his shower and he can already feel the caffeine addiction pulling at him. The smell of fresh coffee is seeping under the bathroom door and Castiel smiles at his reflection in the mirror while he towels himself dry. Dean prepared it for him again, and judging by the scent, he used the good grind. It’s almost enough to make Castiel’s mouth water and he silently wishes that every morning could be like today.

There are few things in his life that he can think of that are better than sleeping next to Dean and still having him there when he wakes up. Not even taking into account the kissing, it was still an exceptionally good morning regardless of everything that happened yesterday.

Castiel is still doing up his shirt when he comes out of the bathroom, saving everything else he’ll have to do until after breakfast. He’d rather not drink coffee right after brushing his teeth and he’s already ran a comb through his hair, which is the only care he ever really gives it. Dean already has a cup of coffee poured for him by the time he reaches the kitchen. It’s waiting on the counter, now clean of all the books that had been scattered across it when they went to bed last night. The books are stacked carefully next to the door to the basement and Dean is in the process of clearing off the kitchen table too.

“Did you have a good shower?” Dean asks, glancing up from one of the books he’s flipping through and smiling at him as he adds the book to the pile he’s making.

It would have been better had it been warm, but there are still things about his relationship with Dean that Castiel doesn’t want to think about. He will think about them eventually, but there is already too much on his plate for him to think about right now. Maybe after Christmas he’ll be able to think about how his vows and this news about God will affect them. For now, he needs to focus on today. There’s still the talk he needs to have with Balthazar, and possibly with Sam if he ends up coming back today. Then he has his daily masses to host, and who knows if the angels or demons are going to come and mess things up because he’s alive again. Hopefully there won’t be another time in the future where Zachariah will try and have him killed again just to use the claim to summon Dean to heaven.

“It was fine.” He shrugs and leans back against the counter, savouring his first cup of coffee.

Castiel waits until he’s started his second cup before he starts making breakfast. He’ll make pancakes before he wakes Balthazar. It would be nice if they could have their talk before he has to host mass in a few hours. Worrying about Balthazar would distract him from his sermons and he’s already distracted enough by everything that happened yesterday. And of course there’s also Sam to think about. Where is he? What is he doing? Is he okay? Those thoughts will follow him all through mass too.

They plague him while he mixes the batter for the pancakes and the only thing that interrupts his concerns is Dean. His lips are warm against the back of Castiel’s neck as he slips his arms around his waist. Dean is a long line of heat behind him as he pulls, tilting Castiel back against his chest. He hooks his chin over Castiel’s shoulder and starts pressing kisses to the hinge of his jaw, that tingly sensation of his wings spreading across his chest and arms.

Shivers shake down Castiel’s spine and he starts to slow in his stirring. “Dean, I’m not wearing the apron right now.”

Dean goes still against him and he takes a small step back, though his arms remain around Castiel’s waist. “Do you still gotta be wearing that for me to kiss you?” His hands slide to Castiel’s hips, fingers catching in the belt loops. “Aren’t I allowed to kiss you without it now? Y’know, _priorities_?”

Castiel puts the bowl and whisk down. He takes Dean’s hands from his hips and pulls them over his stomach again before he turns around to face him. There’s a marked increase in his pulse when he catches the almost disappointed look on Dean’s face just as it slips into hope. A small smile lifts the corner of Castiel’s mouth and he puts his arms around Dean’s waist too, leaning into him more as he rests his cheek against his shoulder.

“I suppose you have a point.”

“Good.” Dean squeezes him slightly. “Don’t scare me like that. I almost thought last night and this morning were going to be one time things.”

Impossible. Castiel enjoys kissing Dean far too much to not do it again. To prove his point, he lifts his head and kisses Dean softly. It’s electric, like micro explosions across his skin and it feels like Dean is touching him everywhere with his wings. One kiss becomes two, then ten, then Castiel stops being able to differentiate where one ends and the next begins.

He becomes fully engrossed in memorizing every movement of Dean’s tongue against his own and the feel of his hands brushing through his hair, making it impossibly messy. Frankly, he doesn’t care. Castiel doesn’t even know how they ended up with Dean’s back pressed against the fridge, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind. He keeps his hands firmly against Dean’s sides. If he doesn’t keep them immobile, there is every chance that Castiel won’t be able to keep from touching – and he can’t do that until he’s thought things through. He’s gone this long without letting his bodily urges take control and just because he’s started kissing Dean doesn’t mean he needs to give in completely – _yet_.

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me.”

Balthazar’s irritated tones cut through whatever heat had been building in Castiel’s veins. Dean gives an unhappy groan and digs his fingers into Castiel’s arms before he breaks the kiss and tilts his head back against the freezer door with a thump. Castiel sighs and steps away, though Dean’s resists letting him go at first.

“Good morning, Balthazar.” He turns to his brother, finding him leaning heavily on the handle of the basement door with a twisted, unamused look on his face. “How are you feeling?”

“I’d feel better if that wasn’t the first thing I’d seen.” Balthazar crinkles his nose and turns away. He nearly trips over the pile of books Dean left beside the door as he moves around the corner to head toward the bathroom.

At least Dean doesn’t say anything until the bathroom door is shut too. “How much shit am I going to get from him for this?”

Castiel smiles, leaning in for one more small kiss. “I believe he said that he was going to be, and I quote, ‘the brother-in-law from hell’ should we ever manage to get to where we are.” He steps away and returns to the batter before he lets the kisses get the better of him again.

“Shit.” Dean mumbles, slumping into a chair. “He’s annoying. Let me drop him in New Zealand without his credit cards. We can make use of the time it takes him to get back.”

“Maybe after Christmas.” He glances over while pulling a frying pan out of the cupboard. “Speaking of – are you ready? Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Balthazar and I already have all our gifts in order for the both of you.”

It takes a moment before Dean winces and looks down at his hands, almost as if he’s ashamed. “No.”

“I need to speak with Balthazar this morning about yesterday. That will be easier to do if you’re not here for either of you to antagonize the other.” Castiel continues, hands working to grease the pan while it heats up on the element. “Why don’t you go do some shopping while I do that? You could check on Sam while you’re out and about too.”

When he looks again, Dean is watching him with a hard set to his jaw. He tries for a soft smile, leaving the stove long enough to put a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Only humans can get to me here and I’ve got Balthazar. I don’t like being protected, but I understand that there’s safety in numbers and I’ll be more careful from now on.”

Dean leans into him, his cheek resting against his side as he slings an arm around Castiel’s hips to hold him in place. “If I go, you have to keep the lights down and the curtains closed. Those sigils Sam painted yesterday –” He gestures at the bloody marks dried on the walls. “– mask any presence in here so angels and demons won’t be able to sense if anyone’s home, but they’re not blind. Shit, they need to be renewed too. I can do it before I go, if you want. Or you could make your dickhead brother do it while you’re making him breakfast.”

Well, that certainly explains why the only lights on right now are the ones on the Christmas tree and the one above the stove – and that would probably be why Dean had opposed him turning on more than the bedside lamp in the bedroom when they had gotten up. Although, with mass fast approaching, Castiel thinks the sigils will be rather pointless. What good will they be at keeping demons from noticing he’s home if mass is going to be held normally?

As soon as he voices that, Dean squeezes him tighter. “Skip it. Put up a sign that says there was a gas leak or something and close everything.”

“I can’t do that, Dean.”

“You basically _died_ yesterday, Cas. You can take one damn day off.”

“It’s two days before Christmas and it’s the time of year when the flock is especially large. I can’t abandon them.” He sighs and absently runs a hand through Dean’s hair. “My wavering faith doesn’t cancel what they believe in. They come to me for guidance and it’s my job to give them that, regardless of whether I know if anyone is listening or not. Just like it’s yours to keep saving the seals on Lucifer’s cage and looking for another way to stop the apocalypse.”

Dean turns his face into Castiel’s stomach, squeezing tighter. He doesn’t say anything and Castiel runs his hand down the back of his neck, fingertips skating the collar of his t-shirt. “If he doesn’t keep you safe, I’ll smite his ass, bring him back to life, and smite it again.”

Castiel doesn’t admit it out loud, but he doesn’t like the idea of Dean leaving anymore than Dean does. He likes having him here. It’s comforting and he does feel safer with him around. And it’s less for Castiel to worry about, always hoping that Dean is doing alright or wondering if there was another angel attack.

He squeezes the back of Dean’s neck, pulling at his arm with his other hand so he’ll let go. “We’ll be fine, Dean. I’ll have Balthazar fix up the sigils and he’ll sit in on mass too, to make sure no one does anything suspicious. Give us an hour at the least and if anything remotely unusual happens, I’ll call you immediately. You have things to do and you should check up on Sam. Maybe he needs to do his shopping too.”

Despite still looking unconvinced, Dean nods and stands up. He gets his jacket and his shoes, but doesn’t bother changing out of his sweatpants and t-shirt. Dean kisses Castiel three times. Once on the forehead, once on the cheek, and lastly on his lips. That one lingers longer than the others and Castiel is surprised by the small sound – nearly a moan – that he makes when Dean rakes his fingers along the back of his head, nails scraping through his hair and sending lightning down his spine.

Dean pulls away with a pleased grin. “I’ll text you before I come back or if we get a call for a seal.” And with that he’s gone before Castiel can even respond.

For a few moments, Castiel stays standing in the center of the kitchen. He feels oddly lonely without Dean after this new change to their relationship. While he thinks about that, he returns to the pancakes. What do people usually do when they take the step from being friends to being romantic partners? Do they talk about it? Are there rules they need to discuss? Lines that need to be drawn?

It feels like that would be something important. He’s not ready for sex and it could very well be possible he might never be. Would that be a deal breaker for Dean? How much emphasis does he put on the sexual aspects of a relationship? As an angel, has he even had sex before?

There are so many questions in his head that Castiel moves on autopilot while making the pancakes. He doesn’t even notice that Balthazar is back from the bathroom until he’s standing next to him and pouring himself a cup of coffee. As soon as he realizes he isn’t alone, Castiel directs him to refresh the seals, flipping a pancake before gesturing with his spatula. Balthazar makes a face, but he still grabs a knife from the sink and rolls his sleeve up to expose his forearm. While the pancakes sizzle, Castiel fetches the first-aid kit to patch up Balthazar’s arm after he’s done with the symbols.

“I’m not surprised, you know.” He says when Castiel returns to the kitchen, kit in hand. “The world’s going to end and you hopped the first ship that sailed into your port. Should I break out the champagne?”

Castiel sighs and carefully puts the kit down on the table, though he briefly contemplates throwing it at the back of Balthazar’s head.  “We haven’t done anything beyond kissing and we’re not going to any time soon. The world isn’t ending. Just because God isn’t listening doesn’t mean that there isn’t something else we can do.”

“Since when did you get so bloody optimistic?”

“I have people worth fighting for and I’m putting my faith in them – in you, and Dean, and Sam.” He turns back to the pancakes, quickly flipping them onto a plate before they burn. Keeping his hands occupied is the best way to keep his emotions in check. If he lets Balthazar’s words get to him, they might start fighting and that’s one of the last things he wants to deal with right now.

Silence is his answer and Castiel glances over his shoulder. Balthazar is still working to paint the sigils, but he’s not saying anything and Castiel isn’t going to push him now. He’ll let him know when he’s ready to talk again. The quiet between them lasts until they’re seated at the table. Castiel kept him from adding any alcohol to his coffee – something Balthazar didn’t appreciate, but he can’t have him getting drunk before going to mass.

“Congratulations, by the way.” The sincerity behind the words almost throws him off and Castiel looks up from his plate. Balthazar is staring down at his, barely having touched his pancakes while he slouches in his seat. “I’m happy for you. I don’t like him, but I’m happy for you.” He glances at Castiel as he reaches for his coffee. “You look happier.”

“I am.” Castiel can feel another smile edging its way onto his lips. “There are still things we need to work out, but we've both had such close calls that I don’t want to risk it and wait anymore. Any problems I had before can be worked through together now.”

Balthazar crinkles his nose again and rolls his eyes. "You've been watching too many chick flicks again."

"You know I haven't and I'm not going to let your hangover affect my mood." He finishes the last bite of his pancakes and pushes away from the table. "I understand why you did it, but you shouldn't have had so much to drink yesterday."

The plate scrapes across the tabletop when Balthazar shoves it towards him. He isn't looking at Castiel, instead staring down at his coffee mug and twisting it between his hands. Balthazar doesn't say anything until Castiel is almost done cleaning up the mess he made while cooking.

"I'm sorry." He steps up next to him, getting out a hand towel to start drying the dishes. "I am happy for you. It was just a hell of a shock to have that be the first thing I see in the morning, especially after everything that happened yesterday. I don't know how you can still want to hold mass for someone who isn't even listening. We're boned, Cassie. Completely and utterly _fucked_." Balthazar puts the one dish he dried down and leans his hands on the counter. "What's the point of hunting anymore if we don't have anything to hope for?"

"Until Lucifer walks the Earth, I hardly think that we don't have anything to hope for. There are still so many people who need our help as hunters." Castiel takes Balthazar's arm and leads him back to the table to gently push him into a chair. "You started hunting to avenge everyone who died in the fire. I'm the same. Until Meg, Azazel, and everyone else has been defeated in their names, we should keep fighting until we're dead or they are." He pulls another chair over and sits directly in front of Balthazar, holding his hands tightly between his own. "You've lived most of your life not believing that God was there or that He was even listening. You've soldiered on without faith in Him. I think you should look into what kept you going when you didn't have anyone or anything to believe in."

"You." Balthazar slumps in his chair, looking away to the wall covered in Castiel's work. "I believed in you, the other hunters, me. I kept fighting for all of us."

"Has that changed?"

He shakes his head and looks back at Castiel with a lopsided smile. "No."

"Good." Castiel smiles and squeezes his hands. "Now do you see how ridiculous you're being?"

Balthazar snorts, rolling his eyes and pulling his hands away. "Ridiculous and a little ashamed for losing myself like that. But at least I'm not getting dirty with an _angel_." He grins and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. "How far did you two get? I need to know if I should break his hands or if he needs to be castrated."

It's Castiel's turn to roll his eyes and he leaves the table to return to cleaning up. "Dean was a perfect gentleman. He didn't push for anything more than I was willing to give and he backed off the moment I got uncomfortable."

"I'm impressed. I expected that hound dog to go straight for the gold." He rescues his leftover pancakes before Castiel can put them in the fridge, settling back down at the table to keep eating. Apparently his appetite has returned. "When are you planning to jump his bones? Are you going to ride that angel ass, or let him ride yours?"

Castiel nearly drops the pan  in surprise. He turns a disapproving glare on Balthazar, getting a cheeky grin and raised eyebrows in response. Those are things that Castiel hasn't let himself think about yet. It's not that he's trying not to think about them. There are just more important things that need his attention first. Maybe there will be time after Christmas, but he feels like that is a conversation that he and Dean should have rather than Castiel making that decision all on his own.

Instead of answering Balthazar's question, he turns to put away the last of the dishes. "Go get cleaned up. You're going to be attending mass today."

Balthazar groans dramatically and Castiel doesn't need to look to know that he's probably draping himself over his chair. "I just woke up, Cassie. Why are you torturing me with the most boring means of falling asleep?"

"I promised Dean that you would be there to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious. Such as _Ruby_ , for example. Ava is still out there too, and who knows how many other puppets Azazel has." Castiel knows he won Balthazar over the moment he mentioned Ruby. If there is anyone who is as protective of him as Dean is, it would be his brother. They're the only family they have left, and Castiel would be much the same if their situations were reversed.

He turns around, smiling at Balthazar's frown. "I'm going to go finish getting ready. You can have the bathroom after you've changed. Don’t wear too much cologne, and try not to smell like a distillery." Castiel stops and glances at the clock on the back of the stove. "Actually, we have enough time for you to take a shower. I'll be done by the time you get a change of clothes. And take some of those books with you on your way downstairs."

The grumbling follows Castiel down the hallway. There's always been something about bugging Balthazar that lifts his mood. He was already feeling pretty good and now Castiel feels like he could just keep smiling throughout the whole mass. If Dean and Sam were here, everything might be as close to perfect as they can get with the pending apocalypse.

While Balthazar wastes time taking the books downstairs, Castiel shaves and brushes his teeth quickly. He reorganizes the information on the wall while Balthazar is in the shower. When it was taken from the stairway, a few things were moved from where they belonged. The map is close to the office door and Castiel frowns at it, comparing the pins to the ones in his memory to make sure that they're in the proper place. Satisfied, he fusses with the decorations on the Christmas tree where it stands next to the fridge. It keeps him entertained until Balthazar emerges fresh faced and whiny from the bathroom.

As they tidy up the Church before mass, Balthazar finally asks about Castiel's research. He explains all the signs he's been hunting down prior to sightings of Azazel, Alistair, or Lilith. It's been a while since he's been able to impress Balthazar with information alone and Castiel tries not to show how pleased he is by that.

To his surprise, Balthazar actually has the holy fire burned glasses with what few things he had on him when he was abducted by Sam yesterday. They both put them on, just in case. Castiel greets the congregation at the door while Balthazar stays seated in the pew closest to the locked door that leads to the office and rectory. It's the best place for him to watch for anyone trying to sneak that way. He has Castiel's phone in case Dean texts about his return home.

Despite his crumbling faith in God and the Church, Castiel gives his sermon the same fervor he always has. The words taste bitter on his tongue knowing that God doesn't care and that He isn't listening anymore. Throughout the mass he has to continually remind himself of what he told Dean earlier. His beliefs should not affect the beliefs of others and he has a job to do. These people come to him for guidance and to affirm their faith. He has his professional pride and he'll continue his job for as long as he is able.

Balthazar stands by the door, watching the congregation leave while Castiel bids them goodbye at the steps. There are no signs of demons or angels out on the street while the congregation leaves and Castiel tries not to worry about the silence. It's been half a day at least since he escaped heaven with the help of Joshua and he would have expected at least _someone_ to have shown up by now. Maybe the sigils in the kitchen are helping. Or perhaps Sam is keeping them distracted somewhere else right now while he vents his sorrows over the news about God.

The moment the main doors are locked, Balthazar slumps against the wall and lets out a loud, annoyed sigh. "I don't know how you can stand being around so many Churchy Joes, Cassie. It's stifling. I felt like I was being smothered the entire time."

"I've lived my life among them. You get used to it rather quickly." He answers, moving through the pews quickly to clean up the Bibles before Balthazar brings the mop to clean the floors. "Did Dean –?"

"About five minutes before you ended talking." Balthazar tosses him his phone from across the room. "He should be here by now. Go make gross kissy faces. I'll finish up here so I'm not subjected to that horror."

Castiel isn't in any position to say 'no', but he does give a brief 'thank you' before he returns to the rectory. Without thinking, he checks under the desk before he proceeds into the kitchen, his gun drawn and ready just in case. He hates Ruby and the demons for making him so paranoid in his own home. Hopefully there will soon be a day where he won't constantly be looking over his shoulder in the place he should feel the safest.

Dean has already discovered the extra pancakes Castiel had made for him and he's eating them cold straight from the container, leaning his hip against the counter. Castiel is still wearing the glasses and he hesitates in the door, unprepared to see Dean's wings and the light dancing under his skin again. Unlike the last time he had seen them, when his wings had been burning with hurt and anger, Dean's wings look _warm_. Sam's wings had been glowing steadily but Dean's are swirling brightly, flashes of not-quite-colours singing along the light-etched edges. The glow under Dean’s skin is steady and it lights his features from the inside out.

Anything that Castiel had prepared to say to him – a simple ‘hello’, possibly a kiss – gets lost while he stares, taking in the radiance of an angel. _His_ angel. Dean smiles when he sees him, one cheek bulging with food before he swallows. Castiel is rooted to the spot beside the stove, watching avidly as Dean leaves the pancakes on the counter and approaches him. The moment he’s close enough, Dean’s wings fold forward over his shoulders, wrapping around behind Castiel and sending the phantom tingles across his back.

“Did’ja miss me?” Dean grins, slipping his arms around Castiel’s waist as he leans in to kiss him.

This is the first time Castiel has ever been so physical with someone. Last night seemed so natural, since he was hugging Dean to provide comfort. Except now the comfort doesn’t seem like it’s needed, but Dean has been very touchy-feely, as Balthazar would describe it. Is this normal for new relationships? Or is Dean naturally like this and now that they’ve taken the step from friends to more, he’s letting this side of him show? It doesn’t exactly bother Castiel. In fact, he quite enjoys the closeness – though it might take him some time to adjust.

Dean leans back slightly from the kiss Castiel barely returned. He tilts his head, eyebrows coming together in confusion. “What? What is it?”

“What do you look like?” Castiel asks without thought. “What do angels look like?”

He raises an eyebrow and steps away to run a hand through his hair. “Um, well, different classes of angels take different form but it’s not really a physical form, more like a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent? It’s kinda hard to explain. But I’m basically the size of the Chrysler building give or take a dozen feet.” He shrugs and gives Castiel a sheepish grin. “Sorry. We’re made of grace and we can fold in on ourselves to fit inside vessels, if that makes any sense.”

It makes no sense, but Castiel already suspected that angels would be a little beyond his comprehension. “What about your wings?”

“What about them?”

Castiel lifts his arm to run the back of his hand along the shimmering veil of Dean’s wings. “I can see them when I wear these glasses, and since we made our bond I can sort of feel when they touch me.” This is the first he’s actually tried touching them and it feels like a wind passing over his hand, moving the hair on his skin.

Dean’s wings flare wide, passing through the wall and stove before they fold tight against his back. He’s staring at Castiel in surprise and, judging by the way he blushes, he might also be slightly embarrassed.

“Holy shit.” He hisses. “Those are the glasses from the seal at the hospital. You could – holy _shit_.”

“It’s not a bad thing, Dean. They’re very beautiful.” Castiel offers him a small smile and (regretfully) removes the glasses, if only because they seem to be making Dean uncomfortable. “I would have told you sooner, but there was never a chance for it. And I don’t mind that you put them around me whenever we’re together.”

He only blushes darker and looks away. Castiel steps closer again, placing the glasses on the stove beside Dean before he draws him into a hug. “I like being able to see a part of the real you. Sam and all the other angels can see your wings, why are you embarrassed that I can?”

“You weren’t supposed to know how I hold them around you.” Dean mumbles into his shoulder where he presses his face, arms tight around him. “It’s a – it’s kinda an intimate thing for angels. That’s why Sam always gives me the stink eye when I do it.”

Castiel can’t resist running his hand up Dean’s back until his palm tingles at the touch of his wings. “I don’t mind.” That feeling spreads up his arms and around his back again. He smiles against Dean’s neck and holds him tighter. “Did you go see Sam?”

“He didn’t want to tell me where he was, but he told me to go shopping.” Dean pulls away slowly and he nods toward the tree. “I got them all wrapped and I put them under there.”

“You didn’t peek at the other gifts, did you?” Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean, glancing between him and the brightly coloured presents. Even though there are only Sam’s and Balthazar’s gifts under the tree at the moment, it’s the principle of the matter that Dean not peek.

“Of course I didn’t.” He huffs and rolls his eyes, a smug grin turning up the corners of his mouth. “I checked the tags and none of them were mine so there was no point. Where’s my gift, Cas?” Dean leans forward again, bumping his forehead against his. “Or are _you_ my present?”

Castiel shoves him away with a laugh. “It hasn’t been picked up yet.” He crouches to reorganize the presents, both surprised and pleased to find that Dean got something for Balthazar too - though he has his suspicions regarding the likelihood of it being some kind of gag gift. “Thank you for reminding me that you need to take Balthazar back to his car today so he can drive all his things here in time for Christmas Eve tomorrow.”

Dean makes the same face Balthazar did earlier, his nose crinkling as he fakes a full-body shudder. “Can’t we just stick him on a bus?”

“I’ll go with you if you don’t mind shopping afterward.” He gestures at a list on the fridge. “There are a few things I need to pick up for dinner tomorrow and on Christmas Day. I was going to do it after mass yesterday, but –” The memories fill the empty ending and Castiel doesn’t put voice to them. Most of the things that happened yesterday are things he would like to forget.

He shouldn’t be surprised that Dean pulls him into another tight hug as the tingling sensation of his wings sweep over him. Dean presses his face against the side of Castiel’s neck. “Don’t talk about that anymore. It happened, it’s done, and I don’t want to ever have to see you like that again, okay?”

His heart trips over itself behind his ribs, pounding hard enough that Castiel doesn’t doubt that Dean can probably feel it. It was foolish of him to think that yesterday didn’t affect Dean in some ways beyond this change to their relationship and his loss of faith in his Father. At least Dean was willing to leave earlier, and he hasn’t yet opposed the idea of shopping – though that might be just because Castiel suggested that they go together. Either way, this is an improvement from the last time he almost died.

And that is a thought he never expected to have.

Castiel turns his head so he can press a small kiss to Dean’s cheek. “I’ll do my best.” His next kiss falls just shy of his mouth as Dean turns his head. “And you have to keep safe too.” He slides his right hand to Dean’s shoulder, squeezing over the mark of his handprint as a reminder of the last time Dean had been badly hurt.

There are no more words after that. Dean kisses him softly in the faint light of the Christmas tree and Castiel revels in it. He never thought he would enjoy this simple act so much. Every press of their lips together is like fireworks in his chest. It feels like he’s being filled with helium and he’ll float away if he doesn’t keep his arms firmly around Dean’s shoulders.

They only stop when Balthazar’s voice floats through the half-open door to the office. “I’m done with the Church, Cassie! Are you two decent? Is it safe to come back yet?”

“Five more minutes.” Dean answers automatically, though he doesn’t return to kissing. Instead he simply grins. “Maybe you should make it twenty.”

“I know how to make a banishing sigil, asshole. Don’t make me use it.”

Castiel sighs and steps away from Dean. It’s nice to know that some things don’t change, though he wishes they would. “My Christmas wish is that the two of you will get along for the next few days. No bickering during the holidays.”

Balthazar joins them in the kitchen and responds at the same time as Dean does, almost perfectly in sync. “ _He_ started it.” Following that they make equally displeased faces and glare at each other.

Heaven help him, his family is composed of children – with the exception of Sam. Castiel resolves to send him a text message, just to make sure that he’s alright too. Even if Sam doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now, at the very least he should make the attempt to talk to him and provide the same comfort that he did for Dean and Balthazar.

“I think _you –_ ” He looks pointedly at Balthazar while getting his phone out of his pocket. “– need more time to accept that Dean and I are in a relationship now. You can get used to that fact while you drive here for tomorrow.”

“But Cassie –”

“But nothing. I have shopping I need to do before afternoon mass and you need to go pick up that thing we talked about.” Castiel types a message to Sam as he crosses the kitchen to his bedroom, intent on changing his clothes first. “And then you need to be here by tomorrow afternoon. Mass is cancelled in the morning for the special gathering in the evening and I’m going to need everyone’s help – yes, Dean, yours too – to get everything ready by then.”

Begrudgingly, Balthazar goes to get his jacket. Castiel changes quickly and in that time, the only answer he gets from Sam is the same as he gave to Dean earlier. While Dean changes in the bedroom so he won’t be out shopping again in the same clothes he went to bed in, Castiel makes a few sandwiches for Balthazar’s lunch while he’s on the road. That gets him a nearly teary-eyed smile when he hands the container over.

“You’re the best brother ever, Cassie.”

“I’ll believe that when you start calling me _Castiel_.”

“Hey, Cas?” Dean taps his shoulder as he joins them at the door. He gestures back toward the Christmas tree with a grin. “How come you went with an _angel_ instead of a star?”

Castiel shrugs as he pulls on his coat. “It was something I picked up years ago at a craft sale and I rather like it. When Balthazar and I put it up this year, we decided to give it a name.”

He smiles up at the little angel with feathery wings sitting at the top of their scraggly Christmas tree. It’s a tradition for them to pick the worst tree on the lot and give it a happy home for the holidays. In Castiel’s fine opinion, a string of lights, a little garland, and a dozen ornaments makes it look just as good as any other tree.

“I call it 'Dean' now and Balthazar calls it – what was it again? Assbutt?” Sometimes there are moments where Castiel simply cannot resist teasing his brother. This is one of them.

Balthazar groans and knocks him in the shoulder. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s _asshole_. I used it ten minutes ago, how do you not remember – Why are you smiling like that?”

“Oh, nothing.” Castiel’s smile grows and he shares a knowing look with Dean, amused to find that he’s caught on exceptionally fast. Even Balthazar hasn’t yet figured out that he is fully aware of how to swear, he just doesn’t do it. And if he does, he sometimes does it in another language so he won’t be caught out by the people around him. Taking now for instance. He turns his grin back to Balthazar. “Ben kal'bah.”

Dean snorts and claps a hand over his mouth, eyes bright as he tries to muffle a laugh. Balthazar only looks confused, frowning between them. Neither Castiel nor Dean explains that he spoke in Hebrew, or that he just called Balthazar the equivalent of a son of a bitch.

Before they leave, Castiel takes a moment to lock the office door and ensure that the back door is locked. Dean puts his hands on both their shoulders and Balthazar braces himself while Castiel closes his eyes, not wanting that disorienting feeling of having the world change suddenly before him. It’s a sensation he isn’t very fond of and it usually leaves him feeling slightly queasy.

They leave Balthazar at his car with a reminder to text Sam for help with getting Dean’s present back to the rectory. Dean seems intrigued the entire time and leans heavily against Castiel’s shoulder the whole time, though Castiel resolutely doesn’t say anything that would remotely give away what the present actually is – much to Dean’s disappointment. He doesn’t miss the hard look shared between Balthazar and Dean before they leave. There are unspoken words in that look, but Castiel can read the silent and rather ominous threat in it as easily as anyone.

It’s a concern that Castiel would likely express in kind to anyone that Balthazar might go out with – if ever. _Hurt him and I’ll hurt you_.

Dean takes him to New York. They walk the streets together, stopping to spy through the windows of stores to look at the displays. Castiel’s present shopping is done and it’s just food and supplies that he needs now, but it’s nice to spend some leisurely time with Dean. Window shopping isn’t something that he’s had the luxury of doing on his own in a very long time. To be honest, Castiel can’t remember the last time he did it.

They don’t stay in New York long. Dean spots a few demons further down the street and without regard for the many people around them, he grabs Castiel’s arm and whisks him across the country to Seattle. There they end up walking through a mall, though there’s still nothing here that Castiel really needs. Everything he wants can be purchased at a grocery store, but he isn’t complaining. Spending time with Dean is a treat all itself and he doesn’t even mind that Dean keeps bumping their arms together despite there being enough room for them to walk without being so close.

“Do we have stockings?” Dean asks as they pass a kiosk full of personalized Christmas stockings. “I didn’t see anything back home.”

“We don’t have a fireplace.”

“You have an oven. That’s close enough, isn’t it?” He starts picking through the piles of red and white, overly large socks, coming up with one stitched with gold lettering spelling out Sam’s name. “Can we get some, please? It’s our first Christmas and all the TV specials have them.”

How could he say ‘no’ to the wide-eyed pleading look that Dean gives him? They manage to find another with Dean’s name on it, but they have no luck finding a _Castiel_ or _Balthazar_ stocking. It’s not surprising, really. His name is rather rare while Balthazar’s is fairly uncommon these days. Instead, he buys two plain stockings without names and they stop in at a fabric store to buy a swatch of gold fabric. With the help of a pair of scissors and some needle and thread, Castiel can easily add at least a _C_ and a _B_ to them.

Dean happily carries the bag with the stockings in it. More than once his hand brushes the back of Castiel’s and it’s not exactly annoying, but he doesn’t understand why Dean keeps doing it. When Castiel draws attention to it, Dean colours slightly and apologizes. It only serves to confuse him more, but everything makes sense when he catches Dean watching the other shoppers. Specifically, his eyes linger on the couples _holding hands_.

It feels like butterflies have been set loose inside his stomach and Castiel becomes very aware of how many people are holding hands around them. That’s something normal to do with your partner, isn’t it? Hand holding isn’t something that Castiel would be uncomfortable with, and it’s not like he’s wearing his clerical collar for people to ogle a priest holding hands with a man – or rather, an _angel_ wearing the body of a man. They’re also on the other side of the country from where he lives. The chances of anyone recognizing him are nearly nonexistent.

He thinks it over as they make their way through a few more stores. Castiel watches Dean’s hands as he picks out ornaments to add to the tree, wanting to add his own special flare to it. He remembers the night he was stabbed and how, despite the blood on them, he had liked how their hands had looked together. If Dean wants to hold his hand while they shop, now would be the best time to do it. There are no downsides that he can think of, and they can certainly deal with anyone who opposes a relationship between two men.

The subject of hand holding isn’t broached again until they’re taking lunch in the food court. Castiel is picking at his questionable Asian cuisine while Dean is completely destroying a large fries and a grease-laden bacon double cheeseburger. Though Castiel is a fan of hamburgers, the sight of it when he ordered had actually made his stomach turn slightly.

“You not eating, Cas?” Dean asks around a mouthful of his burger, gesturing at the almost untouched ginger beef and fried rice.

“I had a big breakfast.” He pushes the container across the table. “You can finish it if you’d like.”

Dean gives him a critical look, as if he doesn’t quite believe him. Castiel only smiles back. It’s very likely that Dean is aware of Castiel’s sometimes sporadic eating habits. Since Dean and Sam came into his life, he has been more regular with eating every meal. But sometimes there are days where he just doesn’t feel like it, or he’s too busy and he forgets. At least Dean has never hounded him to maintain a proper eating schedule like Balthazar has.

As Dean tucks into the fried rice, Castiel looks away and watches the people passing by. “I’ve never held someone’s hand in public. Not since I was a child, at least.”

He looks back to watch Dean swallow thickly and grace him with a sheepish, almost nervous, grin. “I was pretty obvious, huh? Was it the brushing your hand thing? I would’ve asked, but I didn’t know how to.”

“It’s fine, Dean.” A smile find its way to his lips and Castiel nearly reaches across the table to take his hand now to reassure him of that. “I’m just – this is my first relationship, as it were. I’ve read many books, but no amount of reading about can really prepare you for something you’ve never experienced before.”

“Cas.” Dean puts his burger down and wipes his hands on his jeans, ignoring Castiel’s frown and offer of a napkin. “Don’t worry about this. Everything I had with anyone in heaven was the equivalent of a one night stand or a fling. I haven’t had a relationship with a human before either and, trust me, angel ‘relations’ are _galaxies_ different from _this_.” He gestures between them with a flick of his hand.

“But what is ‘ _this_ ’?” Castiel interrupts, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He doesn’t like not knowing how to define something. “Everything that I would call us makes it sound like we’re in middle school. Are we boyfriends? Are we dating? What are _we_?”

“Does it matter?” Dean asks, tilting his head and watching Castiel closely from across the table. “We’re _us_ , Cas. We don’t need a label. Plus, I’m pretty sure that humans don’t have a word for anything involving angels making out with priests.” His smile gets even wider and he leans further over the table, voice dropping to almost a whisper as he gestures between them. “This is serious, Cas. _We_ are serious. It scares the piss out of me, but I’m not letting you go any time soon.”

The tingling sensation of Dean’s wings against his skin spreads up his arms and over his shoulders. Dean hasn’t been as free with his wings while they’ve been walking, but knowing that he’s doing it here and no one else can see what he’s doing is rather thrilling. They share a warm, secretive smile between them and Castiel steals a few of Dean’s French fries, their knees bumping under the table.

As they pack up to head to the nearest grocery store, Dean nudges Castiel’s elbow with his own. “Can we hold hands now? I know some people aren’t cool with P.D.A. and I’m okay if you’re one of those people, y’know. If you don’t like it, we don’t have to do it.”

“What does P.D.A. mean?”

“Public Displays of Affection.” He shrugs and takes most of the bags, carrying them easily in one hand. “It means they don’t like doing stuff like hand holding, kissing, and all that where other people can see ‘em. They’re private people.”

Castiel shrugs and holds out his hand, fingers spread to leave spaces for Dean’s. “The only way for me to know is to try.”

Dean’s smile is not only blinding, but it’s also infectious. He nearly has a bounce to his step as he links their fingers together and practically drags Castiel from the food court. “C’mon! I’m pretty sure I saw a Santa over this way and people were getting their picture taken with him.”

“ _Children_ , Dean. _Kids_ were getting their pict– Dean, we are not going to – _Dean!_ ”

Nearly two hours later, Castiel is putting away the groceries while Dean carefully sets out all the things they bought. A new addition has been made to the fridge door in the form of a picture pinned next to the existing one of him and Balthazar. He knows he’ll hear an earful from Balthazar about it tomorrow, but he can’t deny that Dean looks exceptionally pleased with himself to be sitting on the knee of a fat man in a fake beard. At least Castiel had managed to avoid that particular embarrassment and Dean had been satisfied with him just standing beside him, his hand on Dean’s shoulder. It really is a nice picture – the kind of picture that Castiel would expect to see in a Christmas card like the ones that he gets from several of the families in his parish.

“Can we make shortbread cookies?” Dean asks as he slides into place behind Castiel, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “With green and red and white sprinkles?”

“How many Christmas movies have you even watched?”

“ _A lot_.” He grins against the back of Castiel’s neck. “Please, Cas?”

“I have mass in an hour.” Castiel turns his head to take the sprinkles out of the cupboard where he had just put them away. Dean immediately presses a kiss to his cheek and he can actually _feel_ Dean’s smile. “We can make those when I get back.”

Without thinking, Castiel leans back into him and rests his hands over Dean’s. This intimacy with someone else, the hugs and kisses – he thinks he could get very used to these. He never found his life lacking, and he never actively wanted anything like what he has with Dean now. How can you miss something he never had before? But Dean makes Castiel want to try this. He wants to make an effort and see where this goes. He wants to just _be_ with Dean.

After a few more minutes of simply enjoying being close to one another, they spend the rest of the time until mass listening to holiday music and preparing for the baking they’ll be doing after. Dean spends most of that time flipping through Castiel’s recipe card box, picking out all the baked goods he wants to try making over the next few days. At least half of them have been returned to the box by the time mass comes around, vetoed by Castiel’s lack of time and available ingredients.

“You should just remove the warding.” Dean whines from the kitchen as Castiel changes back into his sermon clothes, fixing his clerical collar in the mirror. “Sam and I protected the whole property from the other angels and you don’t need it anymore. Just scratch out the symbols and we’ll be able to keep an eye out for anything hinky.”

“Ruby didn’t try anything in front of the rest of the congregation last time and I doubt she, or anyone else controlled by Azazel, would try to kill me in front of everyone. If they draw the attention of the public eye to themselves, they won’t be able to move about as freely if the police and federal forces are after them.”

Dean huffs and glowers at him from across the kitchen as he goes to the bathroom to freshen up. “I’m going to stand outside with you while people are showing up. If anyone thinks _anything_ that so much as _hints_ at hurting you, I’ll smite them where they stand.”

“You absolutely will _not_.”

Castiel was expecting Dean’s protectiveness to show eventually. He really isn’t surprised that it’s manifesting now when Castiel will be alone in a room full of people Dean doesn’t know, in a place where he won’t be able to reach him if someone tries anything. Though, truthfully, there is a small pocket of panic deep in his gut at the idea of being without someone to back him up. He’s learned his lesson about trying to be a lone wolf. In his case, it hasn’t turned out so well in the past and those are experiences he doesn’t want a repeat of any time soon – or ever again.

True to his word, Dean waits outside as the parishioners arrive and watches them. Castiel has to give him credit for not doing it in an oddly creepy manner. Instead of simply standing around and not ever coming inside the Church, Dean gets the ladder from the shed before anyone shows up. He doesn’t know where Dean got another box of Christmas lights, but he’s putting them up along the gutters at the edge of the roof, smiling and waving down at anyone who greets him as they pass.

He’s still out there, and almost completely finished the front of the Church, by the time everyone is leaving. No one asks about the man putting up decorations and he doesn’t offer an explanation. Castiel isn’t even sure if the owner of the Laundromat recognizes Dean with a hat pulled over his ears and a scarf obscuring half his face. Those are things Castiel got out of his closet for him when he realized what Dean was planning on doing.

Castiel waits on the Church steps until the last car has driven off before he turns to call out to Dean. “Are you going to finish up before you come inside?”

“Yeah, almost done.” He shrugs and waves his hand dismissively. “No one thought bad things and no one went near the house, so go ahead. I’ll be a few minutes.”

When Dean appears in the middle of the kitchen not long after Castiel has started making the dough for the cookies, he’s carrying a laptop that looks _exactly_ like Balthazar’s. “Where did you get that?”

“Your dick of a brother is way more skittish than you. He nearly drove off the road when I popped in to get this.” Dean grins and tosses his hat and scarf onto the table. “I figured while that stuff cooks, I can help you with your research.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder to gesture at all the papers tacked to the wall. “Which, by the way, is fucking _awesome_. I can’t believe Sam and I didn’t think of trying to track them by the changes their demonic presence makes in the world.”

He ducks his head, turning back to mixing the ingredients. “Thank you. I’m glad you’re finding it useful.”

It only takes Dean another minute or two to realize that Castiel is wearing the apron. As soon as he notices, the dough gets forgotten for a little while as he makes good on the apron’s instructions. Castiel gives himself in to the kisses, sinking into them and laughing when Dean drops kisses along his jaw and to his neck, nuzzling his nose in under the hinge of his jaw. It’s surprisingly ticklish and Dean continues doing it until Castiel pushes him away.

Once the cookies are in the oven, Castiel gets the paperwork he’s been avoiding lately and brings it to the kitchen. Dean settles down with the laptop, booting it up and picking up the research where Castiel left off. The only time they stop is for dinner and to deal with the cookies when they’re done. Dean pops out to go pick up a pizza and they eat that as they work through the evening.

“How badly do you think we could fuck up the apocalypse if we knocked one of these assholes off our hit list?” Dean asks without taking his eyes off the screen, his cheek propped against his fist and half a cookie left in his other hand.

“It all depends on what parts they play, doesn’t it?” He puts down his pen and leans over to take a look at the pages Dean is scrolling through. “We know Azazel is practically ruling hell, so he’s busy with that and directing humans to help out up here. I think it wouldn’t hurt to look into _why_ he’s using humans. Did you and Sam interrogate the ones Ava and Ruby left behind?”

“We mind-wiped ‘em and dropped them off at a hospital.” Dean’s face twists in frustration. “If we’d known that they were working with the demons, we would’ve kept them. But I was all wrapped up in making sure you were okay and we couldn’t just keep them here and tied up so we –” He shoves the rest of the cookie into his mouth and slumps back in his seat. “We fucked up.”

Castiel shakes his head and starts closing the folders and books he has spread out on the table. “No, Dean. You can’t be blamed for something you didn’t know. Now we do and if we ever come across them again, we’ll be able to do something about it.”

Dean doesn’t answer, glaring instead at the laptop until Castiel closes it. He stands and pulls Dean to his feet. “We’ve done enough work for one evening. Let’s go relax.”

“What do you mean ‘relax’? Like take a soothing bubble bath? I’ve been through your bathroom cupboards and you don’t have any.”

“No, we’re just going to go sit.” Castiel leads him to the bedroom and points at the bed where Dean left his t-shirt and sweatpants folded on the blanket. “Get changed and get comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

He grabs his pajamas from the closet and heads to the bathroom to wash up and get ready for bed. It’s not that he feels sleepy or even remotely tired, but he’s sick of looking at papers and they haven’t had a chance to talk in a while. Even as they were shopping their conversations had mostly revolved around what they were buying and all the things about Christmas that Dean wants to experience.

Dean is spread out on his stomach on the bed when Castiel returns, his socked feet bumping the wall above the pillow. He has a book spread open before him, but he closes it and watches Castiel instead while he dumps his clothes in the hamper at the bottom of his closet. Tomorrow morning he won’t have mass and in the evening, for the big Christmas sermon, he’ll have to wear his vestments.

Balthazar mocks him every year for the alb and the cincture – claiming that symbols of purity and chastity shouldn’t apply to him. The purity one he can understand, since he has spilled more blood in his life than most any other priest. But he has held fast to his chastity to this point in his life and Dean’s presence hasn’t changed that – not that he’s stopped to really think along those lines just yet.

“So, what are we going to do to relax?” Dean asks as Castiel takes the book back to the shelf for him.

“You’re doing it.” He explains, settling into the chair at the end of the bed with the bag of stockings in his lap. Castiel twists to put his legs over one of the arms so he’s facing Dean and carefully spreads all the supplies over his knees and lap. “We can just sit in silence for a while, or we can talk if you want. If you have any questions for me, about me, or us, or anything, you can ask them.”

A wry smile spreads across his lips and Dean rolls over onto his back to look at him upside down. “Is this your roundabout way of trying to get me to talk more about my past?”

That would have been a nice bonus if Dean hadn’t caught on to him right away. He smiles back and picks up the scissors, ready to cut out the letters for his and Balthazar’s stockings. “If you’re willing to share, I wouldn’t be averse to listening.”

By the time Dean points out that it’s after midnight and that Castiel should get some rest, he’s finished the stockings and they’ve gone over parts of Castiel’s childhood that Dean knew nothing about (such as the time Anna fell out of one of the trees in the courtyard and landed on him, breaking his leg and her arm). He also talked in great detail about most of the memories that had been a part of his road to the Garden while in heaven. And Dean had shared quite a bit of himself too.

Castiel had listened with rapt attention as Dean gestured wildly, painting scenes with his hands that he couldn’t see but he heard the words and could only barely begin to imagine the wars Dean described between heaven and hell. He talks about the time he and Sam were patrolling heaven and came across one that was empty - Bobby’s heaven. They had waited around, trying to find him and when he returned, they followed him back to the Roadhouse and Castiel more or less knows the story from there.

He is disappointed when Dean stops to point out the time. “But I want to hear more.”

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere.” Dean assures him as he rolls off the bed and throws back the covers. “I can tell you more tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, and you can kinda see where I’m going with this, right?”

“I can, but that doesn’t change that I would like to learn more about you.” Castiel takes off his socks before he moves from the chair to the bed, sliding over to the far side against the wall to make room for Dean. “I would like to know what you did when you weren’t patrolling the heavens. How many of the events in the Bible actually happened? Did you participate in any of them? You said you and Sam have been close since he was created by God not long after you, but do you have such close ties with any other angels?”

Dean stares down at him for a moment before he laughs and shakes his head. “More than half your Bible is wrong, Sam and I didn’t have many world tours during that time, and Sam is the only angel I’m that close with.” He crosses the room to turn off the light, hand hesitating over the switch. “There are others that we called close friends and they were almost like family to us.”

“Aren’t all angels technically your family?”

He looks over his shoulder to pin him with a false glare. “You know what I–” In the middle of his sentence, Dean’s eyes glaze over. Castiel sits up quickly, wondering who could be talking to him. It only lasts a handful of seconds before Dean shakes himself from it and turns to face him again. “A seal is – Sam says he’s going to meet me there.”

Castiel lifts his pillow and gestures at the gun underneath it. “Lock the bedroom door. I doubt I’ll be asleep by the time you get back, but I can protect myself until then. Go deal with the seal.”

“You’re not going to ask to come with me?” He raises an eyebrow in surprise.

“Do you want me to? If you do, I will.”

Dean shuts the door and flips the lock. “You gotta rest up for tomorrow, so you should stay here.” He crosses back to the bed, putting one knee on it to lean over and kiss Castiel lightly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can and I might even have Sam with me.”

“Stay safe. Both of you.”

After Dean is gone, Castiel lays in bed with his hand under the pillow and his fingers on the gun. The safety is on and he’s been trained to turn it off in the same action as he pulls it from under the pillow. Those were some of his least favourite training exercises that Bobby put him through. Especially since, up until that point in his life, he had been used to sleeping through most nights with the exception of whenever he had the nightmares.

He lays on his side, facing the door and watching it in the half-dark. With the curtains drawn, the only light in his room is his alarm clock. It takes an hour for him to start feeling drowsy and stop thinking about everything that might be going on. Dean didn’t even tell him what the seal was about before he left. Likely he failed to mention that to keep Castiel from worrying. It doesn’t help.

Castiel is dozing by the time Dean returns. His grip on the gun tightens automatically as soon as he realizes he isn’t alone but Dean stops him with his hand wrapped firmly around Castiel’s elbow.

“I’m back.” He whispers, pulling Castiel’s arm out from under the pillow until he can take the gun from him and put it on the bedside table. “Sam’s in the kitchen and he’s borrowing Balthazar’s laptop to do some online shopping or something.”

The best he can manage in his current state is a soft grunt. Castiel slides back on the bed to make room for Dean, waiting for him to get settled on his back before curling against his side again. Dean’s arm is warm across his shoulders and Castiel muffles a yawn into his t-shirt. It takes more effort than it should to ask if the seal went well. He has the sneaking suspicion that Dean is putting him to sleep again as an apology for waking him.

“We saved the seal, killed a couple dozen demons, and fucked up Vaniah’s current squad.” Dean’s fingers are clever and warm as they sweep through Castiel’s hair and he’s absolutely certain now that Dean is putting him to sleep. “I told him to tell Zachariah to suck a dick for what he tried to do to you. Don’t worry, though. We’re both fine. Nothing but bruises and those are gonna heal before you even see them.”

Castiel is asleep before he can answer him.

In the morning there are more gifts under the tree and Sam has coffee ready for them before Castiel and Dean even come out of the bedroom. His smile is small, and it looks tired, but it still manages to maintain an easy level of warmth as he hands Castiel his mug.

“Thanks for inviting us for Christmas. We’re happy to get to spend it with you.”

“You’re family.” He replies without hesitation, watching Sam’s smile grow. “The holidays are a time for family and you’re always welcome here.”

Sam ducks his head and shuffles back to the table, but his smile stays throughout the morning. To Castiel’s dismay, it snowed during the night. There are already plows on the road, but the Church never contracted anyone to take care of the parking lot. Instead, he has a snowblower. It’s annoying when he has to do it by himself, but today he has two extra sets of hands and Balthazar is on his way.

By early afternoon, Dean and Sam have nearly gone to blows over who got to use the snowblower to clear the parking lot and who had to use the shovel. Castiel could hear the bickering through the windows of the Church while he ruined each and every angel warding symbol he had once spent an entire night carving into the rafters. It would be nice to be able to have Sam and Dean join the mass tonight if they want to and he doesn’t want to leave them out of anything anymore. Family doesn’t do that.

Balthazar arrives just in time for a late lunch and he spends most of the meal ranting about the conditions of the road. It serves him right for driving such a silly car. A _Porsche_ is no vehicle for a hunter, but Balthazar had insisted on scamming every gambling den and pool hall from California to New Hampshire just so he could afford it. It’s one of the few things in his life that he actually paid for.

While Dean and Sam continue to take care of the snow, clearing the driveway and all the paths around the rectory and the Church, Castiel enlists Balthazar’s help in cleaning the inside of the Church and making sure all decorations are in their proper place. During this endeavor that takes them most of the afternoon, Balthazar explains just why he doesn’t have Dean’s present with him. Castiel isn’t worried. He can just send Balthazar and Sam to go get it in the morning while he distracts Dean so he doesn’t notice that they’re gone.

Perhaps it’s the presence of actual angels that keeps Balthazar’s standard teasing at bay when Castiel changes into his vestments. Regardless, Castiel doesn’t miss the teasing grin and pointed glance Balthazar makes toward Dean as he comes out of the bedroom fully dressed in his robes. Dean’s smile is a little too silly for Castiel’s liking, and he keeps glancing toward where the cincture would be under his clothes. As punishment, Castiel leaves Sam in charge of making sure that Dean and Balthazar are dressed appropriately for Church as he goes to do the final touches.

They had discussed earlier about whether or not Sam and Dean would even attend the sermon. Sam was opposed to it because he’s still justly angry with God. Dean wants to go if only to keep an eye on Castiel. He would like them there, but if they’re not comfortable with it, he understands completely. The only reason Balthazar is going is because Castiel asked. It seems he doesn’t care either way and Castiel wouldn’t be surprised if he finds a way to play games on his phone while tucked away in the back rows.

Half way through the sermon, as they’re singing through a few traditional hymns, Castiel has to fight to keep from smiling as he sees Sam sneak in from outside, finding a place to stand just behind where Dean and Balthazar are sitting. Dean is actually singing along to the hymns, eyes fixed on Castiel and lips quirked in a half-smile. He wishes he could hear him sing properly. Dean probably has a lovely singing voice, but he’s lost in the tide of the rest of the parishioners.

It takes forever for everyone to leave afterward. Castiel feels like he shakes hands and exchanges small pleasantries for hours, nodding politely at all the well wishers. Unlike Dean, Sam and Balthazar, he’s not able to just slip away without anyone noticing. He’s exhausted by the time he shuts the doors and locks them. Any bad thoughts he had about the others leaving him to the masses are immediately retracted when he turns around to find them cleaning up the pews.

“Thought we abandoned you?” Dean grins at him, arms full of Bibles and discarded hymn booklets.

“I entertained the thought a few times, yes.” He smiles back, taking a few of the books from him.

The clean up goes quickly with the extra help and Castiel is extremely thankful for it. With the Christmas mass held so much later in the evening than usual, by the time they’re done it’s very late and Castiel is too tired to want to stay up talking. Balthazar seems full of energy and he pulls out the alcohol the moment they’re back in the kitchen, pouring glasses for everyone.

“You can have mine.” Castiel pushes the glass away when it’s offered. “I’m going to take an early night. Please don’t be too loud.”

He changes in the bathroom and is surprised to find Dean sitting on the bed in what are quickly being dubbed his pajamas. Perhaps Castiel should get him a pair for Christmas.

“You don’t want to stay up with Balthazar and Sam?” Castiel asks, using his phone to send a quick message to Sam asking him to go pick up a set of pajamas for Dean and to get the money for it from Balthazar.

Dean shrugs and twists on the bed to kick the blankets out of the way. He slides down to lay in his spot at the edge of the bed. “I’d rather be here with you.”

Rather than crawl over Dean to get to his spot against the wall, Castiel approaches the bed from the end by the chair. With the bedside lamp on, he can see Dean’s grin slip a little in disappointment. He waits for Castiel to settle against him before drawing the blankets back over them both.

The light is only off for a few minutes before Dean speaks into the dark. “Y’know, we should get you a bigger bed if I’m going to make a habit out of spending the night with you.”

“I like my bed.” Castiel tilts his head up, regarding the outline of Dean’s profile in the light from his alarm clock. “I don’t need a new one.”

“You don’t want more space?”

He shakes his head and curls his fingers loosely in the fabric of Dean’s t-shirt over his chest, listening to his heart beat steadily under his cheek. “No. Do you?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Dean squeezes his shoulders and presses a kiss into Castiel’s hair. “Night, Cas.”

Morning comes far too quickly for Castiel’s liking. Though he can’t think of many ways to wake up that are better than having Dean rolling him onto his back and pressing excited kisses to his mouth and cheeks - despite how Castiel is barely awake and in desperate need of coffee. He grumbles and shoves Dean back, squinting in annoyance at the laughter and Dean’s grin.

“Sam already has your coffee ready. C’mon, Cas! It’s _Christmas_.” Dean practically drags him out of the bed. “Present time!”

“You are a _child_.” He hisses, stumbling after him.

To his great surprise, Balthazar is already awake and sitting mostly upright at the table with a cup of coffee. He barely looks like he’s conscious, as if his hand is the only thing holding his head up. Sam sits across from him and even though he’s much more composed than Dean, Castiel can see that he is nearly vibrating with excitement too. The coffee, at least, is blessed nirvana as it slides over his tongue and Castiel slumps down in one of the empty chairs with his mug cradled between his hands.

“How come you’re awake so early?” He asks, nudging Balthazar’s leg with his foot. To see his brother up before the sun on a day when he doesn’t have a hunt is a rare thing.

“Your angels called me. Repeatedly. And I don’t know when, but that one-” Balthazar gestures vaguely towards Sam, though his aim is off enough that it’s actually toward the office. “- got a hold of my phone last night and set every alarm possible for the asscrack of the morning.”

Castiel is suddenly much more thankful that all he had was an excitable angel and a series of kisses.

“Who gets to open first?” Dean asks, already kneeling in front of the tree. “Is it youngest to oldest? Alphabetically? Oldest to youngest? No, wait!” He grabs four presents and turns to the table, giving one to Castiel, one to Sam, and one to Balthazar, keeping the forth for himself. “We all open one at the same time!”

“If we do it that way, we’ll be too absorbed in our own presents to see anyone opening the gift we gave them.” Castiel explains, putting the package Dean handed to him on the table. “Why don’t you open yours first? Who is it from?”

Dean grins brightly and turns the squishy bundle over, looking for a name tag. “You!”

Despite his excitement, Dean opens the package almost reverently. The wrapping paper is almost intact when he puts it aside and peels away the tissue papers carefully to reveal two sets of pajamas. One set is almost completely black, the pants covered in the iconic symbol of Batman. Castiel can only assume the same symbol is on the front of the t-shirt. The second pair are far simpler, plaid pants and a solid red shirt with long sleeves.

“These are awesome!” He leans over and kisses Castiel on the forehead. “Thanks, Cas!”

“You’re welcome.” Castiel smiles around the lip of his coffee cup. He catches the smug smile gracing Sam’s lips and makes a note to thank him for picking out the perfect pajamas. He’s certain that once or twice Dean has mentioned Batman, but Castiel would have never thought of buying anything of it.

When Dean immediately goes into the bedroom to change, Balthazar muffles a yawn under his hand. “How old is he again?”

“Several millennia.” Sam responds, casually picking at the tape holding down the wrapping paper on the box in front of him. “Why?”

“He’s more excited about this than we were when we were kids.” Balthazar flaps his hand to gesture between him and Castiel. “If he’s older than dinosaurs, why the hell isn’t he acting like it?”

Dean emerges from the bedroom in his new Batman pajamas, his grin wider than Castiel thinks he’s ever seen it. “I’ve watched so many freaking movies about this day and never had one of my own, duh. Now open your gift, Sam. Angels first, since we’re just so _new_ to all this weird human crap.”

The sarcasm isn’t lost on anyone and Sam rolls his eyes, tearing into the paper with much less finesse than Dean did. Just like Dean, he lights up at the plaid shirts carefully folded in the box. He touches the fabric almost reverently and looks up at Balthazar with wide eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Balthazar mumbles, eyes barely open to see it. “Hope they fit, you _giant_.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and taps the tall bag in front of his brother. “Maybe this will cheer you up.”

He knows that Balthazar already knows what it is, but the pleased grin fits easily on his face when he pulls out the brandy. “This will be _greatly_ enjoyed. Thank you, Cassie.”

“Now your turn, Cas.” Dean sounds overly excited when he drags the chair from the far side of the table around next to Castiel.

It makes sense when he finds the tag that says the present is from Dean. Castiel finishes his coffee before he starts opening it. He has no idea what Dean would get for him, but a tan trench coat is not one of the first things that would have come to mind if he had stopped to think about it. Sam makes a choked noise of surprise when Castiel lifts it from the box and Balthazar manages to look both surprised and horrified in the same expression.

“You’ve got to be joking.” Balthazar says at the same moment Sam hisses; “ _Constantine_.”

Castiel looks to him in confusion. “Constantine the Great?” He doesn’t understand what a long dead Roman Emperor has to do with the coat.

“Constantine the magician from the DC comic books. Dean’s been crushing on him since he found the comics in Ash’s bedroom in heaven.”

Dean reaches out and punches Sam in the shoulder. “No I haven’t!”

He stands to put the trench coat on. It’s slightly too big in the shoulders, but it has a few pockets on the inside and he rather likes the colour. Regardless of whether Dean purchased the coat because it reminded him of a comic book hero, Castiel likes it and he says as much. Balthazar’s comment that he’ll pay Castiel to never wear it again is pointedly ignored by everyone and Castiel makes a show of hanging the coat up next to the door.

Dean’s next gift is from Balthazar and Castiel visibly recoils when he pulls a green knitted sweater out of the bag. It is, quite possibly, the most hideous piece of clothing Castiel has ever had in his home. The front of the sweater is divided into twelve squares and at least half of them are filled with a horribly pixelated attempt at what must have been intended to be a _squirrel_. The colours of the squirrels and snow are garishly bright and it actually hurts Castiel’s eyes to look at it for too long.

The moment Balthazar sees it, he starts laughing. It’s ugly, loud and nearly hysterical laughter that does nothing for Sam’s attempts not to laugh too. Dean looks confused, as if he’s not sure whether it’s a serious gift or not. Castiel glares at the offending sweater, briefly wishing he had the ability to set things on fire with his mind.

“Um, thanks?” Dean looks up from the sweater, glancing at Castiel. “What?”

“I will _burn_ that thing if you ever wear it.” He says tightly, turning his glare to Balthazar.

It only serves to make him laugh even harder. Somehow, in between laughing so hard he’s doubled over with his head against the table, Balthazar manages to gesture at the bag. Dean raises his eyebrows and reaches back inside, pulling out two books by Vonnegut that not even Castiel has read before. He smiles brightly and turns them over to read the back, muttering a ‘thank you’ as he does so. Castiel leans closer to read them too.

The rest of the gifts go quickly after that. Sam is immediately enthralled with the laptop Castiel got for him, just as Castiel nearly gets lost in the ancient tome that Sam gave him. Balthazar is extremely pleased with the few v-neck shirts he receives from Dean, holding them up to his chest and holding the arms out along to make sure they’re an accurate length. He’s even happier when he opens the leather jacket that Castiel got for him.

Castiel is very surprised to find a small portable TV in a box from Balthazar. It’s just big enough to fit on top of one of the bookcases in the kitchen. It goes very well with the DVD player and box set of Lord of the Rings movies that Sam gives to Dean. The closer they get to finishing with the presents, the more excited Castiel gets. As soon as they’re done, Sam and Balthazar are going to pick up Dean’s final gift and he can hardly wait to see Dean’s reaction to it.

He nearly forgets all about that when Balthazar unwraps an old colt as a gift from Sam. “Oh, a collector’s piece! Very nice.”

Clearly Balthazar has no idea what he’s holding, but Castiel recognizes it almost immediately from hand drawn sketches in several hunters’ journals that he took from Bobby’s house. He can hardly believe that it’s _real_ and he reaches out to take it gently. “This is - Where did you find it?”

“Bobby knew where it was. Or, at least he had a really good guess about where it might be.” Sam shrugs, grinning brightly at Castiel.

“I’m getting the feeling this is more than just a gun.” Balthazar leans over, taking it back and turning it over in his hands. “What is it?”

Dean leans against the back of Castiel’s chair, a hand on his shoulder. “Put one of those bullets into something and you’re practically guaranteed to kill it. Demons, vampires, werewolves - they won’t stand a chance against this as long as you don’t have shit aim.You’ll need a special type of bullet for it, but we should be able to make them easy enough.”

“Sorry boys,” Balthazar announces, holding up the gun and thumbing the hammer gently. “But I win for best present of the day.”

“ _Excuse_ you, but I still have a present for Sam, and it’s pretty damn awesome.” Dean sounds far too pleased with himself as he gets a long, thin box from under the tree. It’s the last gift there and Castiel doesn’t bother reminding Balthazar about the gift for Dean. He knows and he’s just being a tease.

Sam looks up at Dean curiously as he takes the box, weighing it lightly between his hands. Dean says nothing, sitting on the edge of his chair and watching closely as Sam shreds the paper and opens the box. Two styrofoam halves protect whatever is inside and they slide out easily with the present cushioned between them. When Sam lifts the top one, Castiel recognizes the silver sword as an angel’s blade, but he feels just as confused as Balthazar looks. Why would Dean be giving Sam another sword?

His confusion only grows when the blood drains from Sam’s face and his throat works over noiseless sounds, lips parted and sucking in silent gasps of air. Even his hands start to tremble slightly as he lifts the sword from the styrofoam. Castiel has never seen Sam so shaken. He wasn’t even this surprised when Castiel had told them about God’s message.

“Well, what is it?” Balthazar asks finally after an extended period of silence.

That seems to break the hold over Sam and his grip on the sword turns his knuckles white. The look he gives Dean is torn between gratitude and heartbreak, eyes wet and shiny with unshed tears. Dean says something softly in Enochian. Sam closes his eyes and swallows thickly, a few small tears edging out to roll down his cheeks. A ghost of a smile edges his lips as he whispers a thank you and excuses himself, only stopping long enough at the back door to put his shoes on before he goes outside.

At least Balthazar waits until the door is closed before saying anything. “Okay, what the hell just happened? Did you just give him permission to kill you or something equally Earth shattering?”

Dean leans back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the back door. “I told him she would have wanted him to have it.”

“The one Sam lost?” Castiel asks softly, remembering what few times Sam mentioned it.

“Jasiel.” He nods, looking down at the front of his shirt. “They were pretty close and one day she never came back from a hell breach on a different plane. No one brought back her sword, and they said they was nothing left of her to give a proper burial so Sam had nothing but memories.” Dean tries for a smile, but it’s lopsided and he looks like he’s in almost as much pain as Sam. “Now he’s got that and holy crap, it was _not_ easy to find.”

Castiel puts his hand over Dean’s and squeezes his fingers. “That was a very good present, Dean.”

“Thanks, Cas.” He smiles at him, turning his hand over to hold Castiel’s too. “I’ve got something else for you too, but I’ll give it to you later.”

Balthazar immediately makes an unhappy noise. “Oh, please don’t. No one needs to hear that. I’d rather let a banshee wail in my ear.”

“It’s a _present_ , asshat.” Dean shoots back, glaring at him and squeezing Castiel’s hand tightly. “I’m not doing anything like _that_ until Cas says he’s ready.”

He gives Dean a small smile and leans over to press a kiss to his cheek around a murmured thank you. “I’m going to go check on Sam. Try not to kill each other, please. Especially on Christmas Day.”

“I make no promises.” Balthazar says, smiling serenely as he hefts the colt and pretends to be examining it closely.

Dean flexes his fingers around Castiel’s hand before he lets go. Castiel leaves them glaring at each other as he pulls on his boots and the new coat Dean bought him. He finds Sam sitting in the shed on a stool, head bowed and tears fresh on his face. Castiel shuts the door and waits for him to say something first. Sam doesn’t, instead turning the sword over in his hands and running his fingers over it.

After a few minutes of silence, Castiel shifts uncomfortably on his feet. Even with all his experience in dealing with grieving people, he never likes this part and he likes it even less when it’s someone he actually cares for. He wants to comfort Sam, but besides putting a hand on his shoulder, he’s not sure what he could say.

That seems better than nothing and he crosses the small space to where Sam is sitting. The weight of his hand on Sam’s shoulder is enough to throw off his balance and Sam slumps against his side, forcing Castiel to put his arm around his shoulders instead. Sam sniffles slightly a few times in the long minutes that they stand there in silence, but he says nothing and neither does Castiel.

He brushes his thumb back and forth over Sam’s shoulder during the time it takes for Sam to pull back slightly and scrub his hand over his face. “Thanks, Cas. Sorry, I-”

“You miss her.” Castiel squeezes his shoulders, feeling Sam nod against his side. “It’s normal to miss someone you loved. I wish there was something more that we could do to help.”

“You are helping.” Sam mumbles into his coat, following it with another mention of thanks.

By the time they make their way back inside, Dean and Balthazar have cleaned up the kitchen and are now bickering about the best way to set up the TV and the DVD player. Castiel destroys their entire argument by exerting his power as the actual homeowner and sets up the TV on top of Dean’s bookcase and the DVD player on top of Sam’s, letting the cords dangle between them to the outlet. It seems to be a satisfactory resolution for them both and they take a break for breakfast while Sam cleans off a spot on the top shelf of his case to put Jasiel’s sword.

The dishes are barely finished being washed afterward when Dean takes Castiel’s hand and tugs him toward the bedroom. “Can I talk to you alone for a minute?”

“Of course.” He follows, turning a pointed look to Sam and Balthazar and hoping they get the message that now would be the best time to go and get Dean’s final present. Balthazar is reaching for his coat before the bedroom door is closed and Castiel breathes a sigh of relief, knowing that they’re going to get it.

Dean rummages around in one of his drawers for a moment, coming up with a small box that he holds out to Castiel and smiles sheepishly. “Merry Christmas.”

Castiel sits on the edge of the bed as he opens it, aware of how tense Dean is beside him. When he opens the box to reveal the coiled, glossy beads of a rosary, he doesn’t know what to say. The cross doesn’t have Jesus on it, but it is intricately carved with a swirling design. On closer inspection, each bead is made of wood and polished with a dark shine. When he runs his fingers over them, he can feel little symbols finely carved into each one.

“I made it just for you.” Dean says softly, lifting the rosary from the box when Castiel doesn’t. “It’s all Enochian protection magic. You said we should put our faith in each other since God fucked off, right? So,” He turns the cross over to reveal small symbols carved into each arm of it. “Here’s all our names. Wear it to remind you to believe in us, and to protect you from all the bad out there.”

His chest feels exceptionally tight and Castiel briefly wonders when he had the time to make this. He smiles softly and places the rosary around his neck. “Thank you, Dean. I’ll treasure it.”

Dean’s smile gets soft and he gestures at the wrapping. “Look at the tag.”

“But I already know it’s from you.” He interjects while still turning the paper to find the little label. Castiel is fairly certain his breathing stutters to a stop and his heart skips a beat when he reads the neat handwriting. It takes him a few tries to read it out loud. “From _Abdiel_.”

A small shiver shakes through Dean and Castiel nearly copies it when the ghostly sensation of his wings passes over him. Dean leans heavily against his side, resting his head on Castiel’s shoulder as he touches the cross against his chest. “It feels good to hear your say my true name. It’s on one of these beads too.”

“I thought you said you put our names on the cross.”

“I did. Cas, Balthazar, Sam and Dean.” He lifts his head and his eyes are soft and full of a warmth that sends Castiel’s heart spiraling through him, but his jaw is set determinedly. “If you ever need to get a hold of me and you don’t have your phone, pray to Abdiel and I’ll hear it. But I’m _Dean_. That’s the name I want you to call me.”

Castiel nods slowly, though he doesn’t really understand why. Dean smiles and leans forward to press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It’s the name I picked for myself. I didn’t have to take the vessel’s name. I could have been Elvis, or Mathias, or Jensen. But it’s the name I gave you first when I couldn’t think of something to tell you that wasn’t my real name and I decided to keep it. That’s what you’ve been teaching me all along, Cas.”

He frowns in confusion, tilting his head and listening as Dean continues. “ _Choice_ , Cas. I may have made the decision to leave heaven, but it’s because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. I thought that’s what God wanted me to do when I learned about the angels fucking up. Why else would I have learned that, right? But then I came here and you showed me the power of choice when you _chose_ to give me the amulet.”

“You really didn’t give me much of a choice then, Dean.” The memories of their first meeting feel so distant and Castiel can hardly believe more than half a year has passed since then. “There was nothing I could have done to make you leave if I had said ‘no’.”

“You could have said it, but you didn’t.” Dean’s grin grows. “You never actually told me to leave that day. That was free will, right? I started trying it out and it was awesome. And when Sam got hurt, I chose you. I _chose_ to come back here. Really, I could have taken him anywhere, but I decided to trust you. We could have ditched you right after that, but it was pretty damn cool to hang out with you while Sam was healing up. I chose to be your friend just like you chose to be mine. If you didn’t want us to stick around, you would’ve kicked us out the minute Sam was all better or sooner.”

Castiel shoves his shoulder slightly, looking down at the mess of paper in his hands again to hide the blush rising in his cheeks. “Do you have a point in all this?”

“Yeah, the point is thanks.” Dean’s fingers are gentle along his jaw as he turns Castiel’s face toward him again, leaning in to kiss him softly. “For _everything_ , Cas. For all the stuff you’re teaching me now, for everything you’re gonna teach me in the future, for being our friend when no else would. You gave us the choice to come back when we wanted to.” His voice drops to a whisper and Castiel smiles at his blushes. “The only thing you never gave me a choice in was falling for you.”

“If it helps, you left me no choice in that regard either.”

Dean kisses him again, his hand moving to the back of his neck and pressing the beads of the rosary into his skin just above the collar of his pajamas. Every gentle touch through his hair or along his jaw sends a steady warmth though Castiel. It doesn’t sing through his veins like Dean’s grace did when he touched it, but it’s certainly close. He shuffles a little closer on the bed and lets his hand drift up to cup the side of Dean’s neck where his skin practically hums under his hand.

Castiel pulls back slowly. “I have another gift for you too. Sam and Balthazar went to go get it when we came in here and they should be back with it by now.”

“Oh?” His eyes get bright with that same excitement as earlier. “What is it?”

“You’ll see.” He pulls Dean to his feet and leads him back out into the kitchen.

Sam and Balthazar are standing by the back door, red nosed and dusted with snow. They both grin when they see Dean, and Sam tosses him his jacket. As soon as they’re dressed to go outside, Castiel uses a scarf as a blindfold to cover Dean’s eyes.

“You do realize that I don’t actually need my eyes to see, right? Multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, remember?”

“Oh, just shut up and don’t peek.” Balthazar grunts, opening the door.

Castiel holds Dean’s hand as he leads him around the side of the rectory to the driveway. Parked next to his car, all shiny and looking like new, is the Impala. She looks far better than she did in his memory in heaven and the body shop they picked it up from did a wonderful job restoring her. It had taken Castiel ages to track the car down and he was extremely lucky to find that it was still in an impound lot. Thankfully, Balthazar agreed to chip in and it was completely worth it.

Sam covers Dean’s ears for the few moments it takes Balthazar to opens the driver’s side door. Dean turns his head from side to side, as if trying to locate where Sam is standing. “What was the point of that? What the hell happened in two seconds that I wasn’t allowed to hear?”

“You’ll see.” Sam grins, giving Balthazar the thumbs up to start the car.

“I won’t _see_ until you let me take this –” He’s cut off by the rumbling growl of the engine and his jaw goes slack.

Castiel watches him closely as Dean scrabbles to get the scarf off his face, pulling it down to hang loosely around his neck as he blinks and stares. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he turns wide eyes to Castiel. “You – you – _you –_ ”

“A 1967 four door, hard top, Chevy Impala. Black with chrome detailing, bench front seat and steering column shift.” He gestures grandly at the car. “And it once belonged to one Robert Singer.”

Dean makes a strangled noise that verges on a pitch that Castiel wasn’t aware he could make. He grabs Castiel’s face, tugging him forward into a bruising kiss and he staggers slightly when Dean lets go. A steady stream of thanks follows Dean to the car where he drapes himself over her hood in an attempt at a hug.

“Oh baby.” Dean murmurs against the cold metal. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Balthazar slams the door shut, grinning wryly as he joins Castiel and Sam where they stand. “What, no thank you kiss for us?”

“I wouldn’t want one.” Sam laughs, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Cas might shoot us.”

“I would _not_.” He gives them a half-hearted, affronted glare that makes them both laugh harder. It brings a smile to Castiel’s lips and he looks back to find Dean checking under the Impala’s hood, a wide grin fitting naturally to his lips as he looks her over. Even with the apocalypse fast approaching, it’s nice to see his family still has the ability to be happy.

It takes Sam a few minutes to calm down enough to jostle Castiel’s shoulder. He doesn’t look away from Dean and the Impala when Castiel turns to him. “I’m Deuel, but I like Sam better.”

Castiel breaks into a whole new smile. Knowing that they trust him enough for this is like having another Christmas present. “Thank you, Sam.”

“What’s that now?” Balthazar leans around him, looking between them curiously. “What the hell is a dew-well?”

Sam snorts and shakes his head, striding forward to look at the car with Dean. “Tell him if you want to, Cas. It’ll probably help some day if he can pray to us too.”

“Tell me what?” He tugs at Castiel’s sleeve until he explains, leaving out exactly how Dean told him. That’s a moment between them he wants to keep private. It’s something he wants to lock up and keep for himself to look back to whenever he needs a little pick-me-up.

Ten minutes later, Balthazar starts complaining about the cold and Sam wants to go inside and play with his new laptop. They go in together and Castiel approaches the car, gently dragging his fingers along her roof until he reaches Dean where he is inspecting the trunk. “Would you like to go inside too, Dean?”

“Actually, I want to take her for a spin.” Dean slams the trunk and looks to Castiel hopefully. “Want to come with?”

He looks critically between Dean and the driver’s side door. “Do you even know how to drive?”

“Sure. I even have a license with my face and name on it.” He grins and circles around the Impala to open the passenger door, gesturing for Castiel to get in. “Come on, let’s go for a drive to town or something. It’ll be fun!”

“We’re both in our pajamas.”

“It’s not like we’ll be getting out of the car. And we have our jackets on.

Castiel glances toward the house even as he slides onto the seat. “What about the others?”

Dean shuts the door and answers him when gets in behind the wheel. “If they’re jealous enough, I might take them for a drive later. Everyone wants a piece of you, baby.” He coos, stroking the wheel fondly. “And Cas, I have one rule. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.”

He rolls his eyes and buckles in as Dean puts the car in reverse. “You’re lucky I have an eclectic taste.”

“I’m lucky, period.”

The first half of their drive takes them all the way to Pontiac. Dean finds a station that plays old rock and he drums the steering wheel in time with most of the songs before he reaches across the seat between them to hold Castiel’s hand. He likes the tangle of their fingers, pale compared to the black leather of the seat. It’s a comfortable drive and one of the many highlights is when Dean pulls to the side of the road for a few minutes just to slide over and kiss him.

Castiel isn’t sure what it is about the car, but he rather likes kissing Dean in it. It almost feels secretive, like it’s just them . The interior is small enough that the slightest of sounds feels magnified, each breath loud in his ears. He wonders how long it’s going to take the car to start smelling like Dean. Or maybe Dean will start to smell like the leather, oil, and gasoline combination instead of thunder and lightning.

Dean slips back into his seat slowly, the very last thing to go are his lips and Castiel nearly leans after him. He licks his lips slowly, eyes hooded and dark as he puts the car back into drive. “One day maybe we’ll get the chance to fog up the windows like that scene in Titanic.”

“I’ve never seen that movie.” But Castiel _has_ seen plenty of others where windows of cars have gotten foggy and he can feel a blush creeping up his neck.

“Are you kidding me, Cas? How have you – It’s a _classic_.”

He shrugs and looks out the window, watching the snow covered landscape pass. “You’ve haven’t even been on Earth for a year. I don’t understand how you’ve seen so many movies and shows already.”

“Heaven is full of collectors. Y’don’t think their private happily-ever-afters didn’t have a hell of a lot of movies? No one ever noticed when I borrowed a few and watched them with Bobby and the gang.” Dean starts drumming on the steering wheel again as he explains. “There were a lot of times here too when we were taking a break from looking for God and there weren’t any seals to deal with that we didn’t feel like hitting a bar so we just found a place with a working TV.”

Castiel looks back, a small frown creasing his forehead. “Why didn’t you come home then?”

“We didn’t want to keep bothering you.”

He pulls Dean’s closest hand off the wheel and holds it on the seat between them again. “It wouldn’t have been a bother.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Chances are, we’re going to be hanging around a lot more now anyway. You got any idea what a pain in the neck it would be to keep carrying around my DVD player?” Dean squeezes his fingers and flashes him a warm smile as he turns the car back onto the Church road.

The teasing grin falls away when he looks forward again and slams on the brakes. They skid and slide on the snow, coming to a stop a little ways down the road from the end of the driveway. Castiel is about to demand to know why Dean did that, his chest aching from the pull of the seatbelt but the question gets stuck in his throat as he looks up and sees what Dean saw – a young woman with vibrantly red hair and wearing a suit is staring at the Church. She does not look very happy when she turns to them, and Dean swears loudly.

“I don’t fucking believe it.”


	12. Incendiary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shrugs Castiel’s hand off and stands up. “I’m not going to apologize, Cassie. We’ve got most of heaven after our asses and another angel drops on our doorstep claiming to have a way to stop the apocalypse – which, by the way, you two have already said that our only way to stop it is _God_.” Balthazar gestures sharply at Sam and Dean. “Am I the only one here who finds all this more than a bit suspicious? Let’s not forget that I’m the only one here who _hasn’t_ almost died yet and none of you are listening to me. Where’s the logic in _that_ , I ask you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Pappcave's Reverse!Verse](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/Papp%27s-reverse%21verse). Papp has written a few things for it already (found at the link above) - part of Castiel's past included. 
> 
> And he was nice enough to do extra art for this fic too! Go give him some love!
> 
>  
> 
> **Updates the 15th and 30th of every month until the story is complete. And no, I'm sorry, I don't know how long it will be. For chapter statuses and information, please[check here.](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hunting+for+faith)**

“An angel?” Castiel asks immediately, fingers curling in the edges of his new coat at the dark look the woman sends their way. He doesn’t recognize the vessel, though her red hair reminds him of Anna.

“A friend.” But even as he says it, Dean’s knuckles go white over the steering wheel. “Or used to be.”

She doesn’t move, or try to stop them when Dean gently presses the gas pedal and they crawl forward along the road. He turns into the driveway without issue and parks next to the Church’s car. Dean is out of the car with Sam next to him before Castiel has even unbuckled his seatbelt.

Balthazar comes around the corner of the rectory, still pulling on his jacket as he reaches them. They must have seen through the window, or Dean had contacted Sam.  “What’s going on? Is that Anna?”

“No.” He knows what Anna looks like. She sends him a card every year for his birthday and she always includes a picture of herself and her family – married two years ago and she has a son on the way now. Balthazar knows that, but he always declines seeing the pictures.

“Cas, you two stay back until we give the okay.” Dean looks over his shoulder before he and Sam cross the lawn to the fence where the woman is standing. He would perhaps look more threatening if he wasn’t wearing black pants with yellow Batman symbols underneath his red leather jacket.

Balthazar tugs Castiel forward enough to hear them talking. Though it might be unnecessary, since Dean speaks rather loudly as soon as he’s close to the fence. “I can’t believe they sent _you_.”

“Nobody _sent_ me.” She sniffs at him, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as she pins them both with a narrow eyed glare. “I came on my own because you guys are _idiots_.” Sam flinches at the loud hiss and Dean actually shifts on his feet, ducking his head slightly. “I can’t believe you left me out of all this! I had to find out through _gossip_ that you two went rogue. Worst of all, you rebelled _without me_. What, you couldn’t _trust_ me?”

It almost sounds like she’s insulted and Castiel shares a confused look with Balthazar as Sam and Dean mumble apologies. They look more contrite than Castiel has ever seen either of them, their hands tucked deep in their pockets and unable to look at the other angel. Castiel doesn’t outwardly show his surprise when her eyes shift to him. Her lips purse together for a second before she continues in Enochian, her voice steady and angry.

Balthazar has enough patience for a few minutes before he interrupts. “So, is she clean? Should I break out a knife and banish her or what?”

Dean waves them over and that’s as good an answer as any. If he’s willing to let Castiel get closer to another angel, it must mean that he trusts her at least somewhat. “Cas, dickhead, meet Jedi–”

“ _Charlie_.” She cuts in with an almost shy smile, lifting her hand as if she was going to offer it to shake. Instead, she looks down at the fence briefly and lets her hand drop back to her side. It does nothing to affect her smile. “Call me Charlie. I’m not going to let these two doofuses have all the cool code names.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Castiel smiles slightly, nodding in greeting. “Dean is lacking in the introductions. My name is Castiel and this is my brother Balthazar.”

Her smile grows slightly and she glances briefly toward Dean before looking back to Castiel. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Zachariah is practically going supernova over that stunt Joshua pulled with you. All of heaven is screaming about it.”

Balthazar crosses his arms over his chest and frowns at everyone, continuing as if she hadn’t said anything at all. “We’re not letting her in, are we? Is it even possible?”

Sam gestures at the fence and the Church. “Yeah, all we have to do is edit her name into the warding I put up. The only angels who can get in are the names in the spell itself.”

“I’m still not seeing any reason to trust her. The last time angels showed up here, _you_ –” He pointedly gestures at Dean. “– nearly died and Cassie ended up basically angel-married to you. The last thing we need is another angel fucking things up. With our luck, one of you might end up pregnant.”

Castiel barely refrains from smacking Balthazar upside his head. “We can’t just keep standing out here. I do have to get ready for early afternoon mass eventually. If Dean and Sam trust her, I don’t see why we shouldn’t let her in.” And his gut isn’t giving him any reason to distrust her. So far his intuition has been spot on with angels. Charlie seems just fine to him and he fully trusts Dean and Sam’s opinions.

“Or we could play it smart and just _not_ let anyone new in.”

“Would it help convince you that I’m legit if I mentioned that I know a way to help stop the apocalypse?” Charlie’s grin gets bigger when everyone looks back at her. “The host is being taught that the apocalypse is the way to go because that’s what _God_ wanted of His children before He left. Anyone who doesn’t agree isn’t speaking up because Zachariah is making you guys his poster boys for rebellion. He’s made it clear to everyone exactly what’s going to happen when he catches you two.”

Dean snorts and rolls his eyes hard enough Castiel almost winces. “Yeah, like he’s been doing such a great job with that.”

The grim look that crosses Charlie’s face makes Castiel’s stomach sour. It doesn’t bode well and he has the feeling that they’re going to be talking right up until he has to go to mass. Or possibly even longer than that. If it wasn’t Christmas Day, he might have cancelled mass – though he’s never cancelled it even on the days following his near death. But this is a conversation he doesn’t want to be left out of and if it’s going to be a long one, Castiel would like it to be finished sooner rather than later. Even if that means upsetting Balthazar by inviting another angel past the wards they have around their home.

He puts his hand on Balthazar’s shoulder, squeezing slightly to keep him from reacting. “If we let you in, would you first agree to staying in a circle of holy fire until you’ve managed to convince everyone that you can be trusted?”

“Of course.” She nods and lifts her right hand, three fingers raised. “Scouts honour.”

“I’d bet my left testicle that you were never a scout.” Balthazar hisses as he shrugs off Castiel’s hand and turns toward the rectory again. “I’ll go get the holy oil, you bring her to the Church basement. It’s the only place with enough floor space once we move some boxes.”

Dean begrudgingly goes with him at Sam’s suggestion to help with moving things around. Castiel watches Sam crouch by the fence and burn new symbols under the wood. They glow briefly, white lines etched into the frosted wood, before they fade from sight completely. Sam stops Charlie with a hand on her shoulder once she’s hopped the fence and joined them on the lawn.

“I’m sorry, but you need to give me your sword. If we’re doing this by the book, you need to surrender everything first.”

She rolls her eyes and reaches a hand inside her suit jacket. “It would have made more sense to ask me for this _before_ you slapped my name all over the warding.” Even so, she hands the silver blade over without issue.

Charlie doesn’t even complain when Sam keeps a firm hand around her arm as he rests his other hand on Castiel’s shoulder. He closes his eyes to the snow filled yard and opens them to the basement. Dean leads Charlie to the center of the room and as soon as he’s out of the way, Balthazar strikes a match and drops it in the ring of oil on the floor. It lights up quickly and Castiel doesn’t miss how all three angels flinch from it.

He wonders what their wings would be doing if he was wearing the glasses right now. Would they be tucked tightly to their backs to avoid the flames? Or would they be spread aggressively in a display to make one another think they’re not afraid? It’s interesting to think about all the different ways an angel communicates with their wings alone. Even the grace that breathes through them is different and Castiel can’t help but be fascinated by it.

“Out with it, short stack.” Balthazar gestures at Charlie as he takes a spare folding chair from the rows against the wall, unfolding it for himself to slump into. “What information do you have for us?”

“Did no one ever teach you manners?” She frowns at him, arms crossing over her chest. “Would a ‘please’ kill you?”

“Please.” Castiel says in his stead. “I would like to hear everything before I need to leave.”

Charlie smiles at him again. “I like you.” Her smile doesn’t hold for long and it starts to slip as she looks down at her feet. “I wish I wasn’t coming to you guys with bad news.”

“I doubt you can get more worse than when Cas came back from heaven to tell us God wants us fuck off because He doesn’t want to help.” Dean grunts, leaning his shoulder against a pile of boxes. He sighs at the look of surprise that flickers over Charlie’s face. “Bet they didn’t tell you that, did they? We all know that God left the building a long time ago, so when Sam and me heard about the apocalypse and how the angels were helping the demons out, we decided it was time to find His ass and bring Him back.”

“It didn’t work out very well.” Sam mumbles quietly, his hands shaking in fists at his side. “He doesn’t want to help us. If the apocalypse happens, then it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. He doesn’t care what happens either way.”

All the colour drains from Charlie’s cheeks and she looks like she’s on the verge of being sick. She even wavers in place and Castiel wishes they’d had the foresight to place a chair in the circle for her. It wasn’t very courteous of them to force her to stand the whole time. What if it takes them hours to convince Balthazar to trust her? Even if she is an angel, that doesn’t mean she won’t want to sit. Inexhaustible stamina or not.

“How shitty is your news compared to that?” Balthazar interjects and Castiel almost thanks him for it. The last thing they need is for everyone to get upset about God’s abandonment again.

Charlie rubs her hand over her face and glances between everyone for a moment. “I don’t know. On a scale of _that_ to the apocalypse, what would you rate Falling as?”

The silence in the room is palpable and the only breathing Castiel can hear is his own and Balthazar’s. Dean and Sam have gone extremely still to the point that it’s rather obvious they aren’t human. For Castiel, it feels like his throat is closing up and the bottom of his stomach has dropped out. He feels dizzy for a moment and he needs to put his hand on the back of Balthazar’s chair to remain steady. _Falling_. There are so many implications for that one word and Castiel doesn’t even know half of them.

He takes a shaky breath and forces himself to pay attention as Charlie fixes Sam and Dean with a wide-eyed apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. Zachariah decided that you’re too slippery to catch for repurposing and you’re too hard to kill – so he’s just going to neutralize whatever threat he sees you two as. He’s convinced Michael to cut you off from the host completely.”

Sam’s broad shoulders slump suddenly and he runs a shaky hand through his hair. “How long?”

“Depends.” She shrugs helplessly.

“The more mojo we use, the faster we’ll Fall.” Dean says softly and Castiel flinches at the defeat in his voice. “It could be days, weeks, or it could be months. We’ll get weaker and weaker, and eventually we won’t be able to do anything at all.”

“Exactly. The moment you run out of mojo, you’re going to be mortal. You’ll be a whole lot easier to track and kill if you keep being thorns in his side.” Charlie sighs and looks down at herself. “You’ll be trapped inside your vessels until the day you die unless you guys come back right now. If I were you, I’d stay here. There’s no guarantee he won’t just kill you the moment you come back home.”

Castiel’s grip on the back of Balthazar’s chair hurts. This isn’t fair. It’s a lose-lose situation no matter how he looks at it. Either Dean and Sam return to heaven for death or the equivalent of a conversion camp, or they give up everything they’ve ever known – everything they’ve ever _been_ – just to help a planet full of _humans_. They’re a race that sometimes even Castiel doubts if they’re worth saving. His feelings on that matter are complicated, but he knows one thing – they aren’t worth Sam and Dean losing everything that they are.

He feels sick. How are they possibly supposed to choose? It’s not _fair_.

“What are you going to do?” Balthazar asks the question Castiel can’t bring himself to speak. “That’s a hell of a choice you’re being given.”

“What _choice_?” Dean laughs, though there is no amusement in the hollow sound. “I’d rather die a human and go to hell then go back to heaven and suffer whatever the fuck they’re going to put us through for rebelling. If we don’t end up stripped of our wings and forced to Fall, they’ll probably just torture us for an eternity – if we’re lucky.”

Sam gives a dry laugh of his own. “They’re probably not going to be so forgiving for you two either. If they don’t send you to hell for helping us, they might make us watch what they do to you or make you watch instead.”

“Where do you think the creatures in hell learned how to torture?” Charlie asks softly from behind the flames, watching the stricken look Castiel knows Balthazar has. It can’t be much different from his own. “The first demons were angels once upon a time.”

“This is fucked up.” Balthazar whispers, covering his face with his hands. “How the hell are we supposed to win if they keep pissing all over everything?”

Castiel agrees entirely, but he can’t let them see how upset he is by the news. He needs to continue playing the anchor for everyone. If he doesn’t remain steady, who will? It hurts to swallow back everything and to ignore that knowing look Dean gives him. Despite the empty laugh, Dean looks far more relaxed about this news than Castiel feels.

He has trouble meeting Dean’s eyes and he turns his attention to Charlie, putting his hope into every word. “That was just the bad news, wasn’t it? You also mentioned that you have a way to stop the apocalypse.”

“I did.” Her smile is sly and oddly reassuring.

“Cas.” Dean cuts in, crossing the short distance between them to put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder and lean in to speak to him quietly. “Don’t let this get to you. We can talk about it later, alright?”

“Or you can talk about it now, if you want.” Charlie’s grin can be heard in her voice. It leaves Castiel with a slight feeling of dread and the sneaking suspicion that she is well aware of the relationship between him and Dean. If she knows, then how many other angels do too? Perhaps Zachariah has a bigger mouth than Castiel first suspected.

Dean shoots Charlie a dirty glare and he squeezes Castiel’s shoulder gently. “ _Later_.”

She pouts slightly, but sighs and waves her hand. “Fine, fine.”

“Get on with the good news already.” Balthazar gripes and Castiel moves his hand from the back of his chair to his shoulder, squeezing it tightly in warning. “Some of us don’t want to spend their Christmas cooped up in the basement.”

Charlie narrows her eyes at him, but the glare is at odds with the smug smile creeping over her lips. “Alright then.” At least her eyes soften when she looks to Castiel. “When you were in heaven, I was trying to get to you before Zachariah so you could give these two a message for me. You’re pretty slippery and Joshua was a bit out of the blue there.”

“Yes, we know. Moving on?”

“Balthazar.” Castiel hisses, squeezing his shoulder harder. “ _Manners_.”

He shrugs Castiel’s hand off and stands up. “I’m not going to apologize, Cassie. We’ve got most of heaven after our asses and another angel drops on our doorstep claiming to have a way to stop the apocalypse – which, by the way, you two have already said that our only way to stop it is _God_.” Balthazar gestures sharply at Sam and Dean. “Am I the only one here who finds all this more than a bit suspicious? Let’s not forget that I’m the only one here who _hasn’t_ almost died yet and none of you are listening to me. Where’s the logic in _that_ , I ask you?”

“It took a few days to find my vessel, otherwise I would’ve been here sooner.” Charlie points out. “If I’d got to him in heaven, he would’ve come back with what I’m about to tell you. And for the record, these two idiots already know what I’m going to say.”

Dean shares a confused look with Sam. “What? No we don’t.”

“You do.” She grins at them both and Castiel recognizes it as one Balthazar has used on him time and time again. It’s the smile of a sibling who knows something the other doesn’t. “You know about it, but you probably haven’t considered it the way I’m about to tell you.”

“Tell us what?”

“The tablets.” Charlie says simply, shrugging.

Sam groans and rolls his eyes, turning away. “Those are useless.”

“Yeah, if they were any good don’t you think we’d have found them already?” Dean brushes past Castiel to stand next to Sam, arms crossed angrily. “They’re hidden from angels the same way the amulet was. Why waste time hunting down things we can’t use?”

“Because you _can_ use them, dumbass.” Charlie snaps.

Castiel frowns at Balthazar for elbowing him sharply. Apparently it’s his turn to be the one to ask the questions. Judging by the pointed glare he’s giving, Balthazar doesn’t want to be the one to say it this time. “Excuse me, but what are the tablets?”

Dean turns to him, a frown still tilting his lips down. “Metatron carved God's word into stone tablets. The only people who knows how many there are, are God and Metatron. We don't even really know what's on them, but legend is that they're instructions on how to do certain things. Only Metatron, God, and God's chosen prophets can read what's on them. So, point in fact, they're useless to us.”

“You're not _thinking_ , Dean.” Charlie sighs, making a sharp gesture in the air. “All you need to do is find a tablet and take it to a prophet to read.”

“Except that you're forgetting all prophets are protected by archangels.” Sam intervenes, starting to pace along the edge of the flames. “If a threat approaches a prophet, an archangel will descend to protect them. We're considered enough of a threat for Michael to have okayed us getting cut off from the host. We won't be able to get within a mile of the prophet without Raphael or Michael dropping in and smiting the hell out of us.”

Balthazar surprises Castiel by stepping forward. “What about us? You did your angel thing on our ribs and said that Cassie and I are protected from being sensed by angels.”

A slow smile starts to spread across Sam's lips and he comes to a stop, glancing back and forth between them. “You're hidden from _all_ angels. If we shut ourselves in our vessels and burn the spell into them like we did you, we might be able to hide from them enough to get to talk to the prophets. And you two would be able to get the tablets too. We won't be able to touch the containers until we Fall, but _you_ –” He turns to Dean and Castiel can see the hope in his eyes. It inspires the same feeling in him. “What do you think, Dean? It's better than nothing.”

“But we don't know what's on the tablets. For all we know, it could be the Colonel's secret seasoning recipe.” Dean shakes his head and looks at Charlie. “We don't even know how many seals are left to break. The first and the last are the only ones that are fixed, and some of the others are time sensitive. But that still doesn't mean we know how long we have left.”

“Until October, at least.” Castiel points out, remembering the one he and Balthazar had foiled on the Hunter's moon. That seal can't be broken again until next October, which gives them several months to work with.

Dean stares at him blankly for several moments before he shakes his head again. “We still don’t know what’s on the tablets. Do we really want to waste time looking only for them to end up completely useless to us when we could be doing something so much better?”

“Like what?” Balthazar counters. “I don’t see you throwing out any bright ideas.”

“Cas’s research.” He snaps back, turning to him sharply. “We can try taking out Lilith, Azazel and Alistair. If we knock them off their totem poles, we’ll buy ourselves some time to find a permanent solution. They’re so fucking arrogant I bet there wouldn’t be anyone even remotely ready to step into their shoes if they’re suddenly found empty.”

Charlie’s sigh cuts through the silence that follows Dean’s answer. “Or you could, I don’t know, ask me about the tablets? It’s not like I haven’t been hunting down every last thing I can about them in heaven or anything to help you guys out even though you totally _left me out of everything_.” She shrugs when Dean turns to look at her. “Just saying.”

“You know what’s on the tablets?” Balthazar asks when no one else does.

She grins brightly at him. “I _might_ have a generalized idea and I _might_ be willing to share.”

Dean and Sam glance between the staring contest Balthazar and Charlie are holding. It only takes a minute before Balthazar breaks into a lopsided grin and he nods, gesturing at her limply with one hand.

“I like her. Let her out.”

The moment the fire has been put out, Castiel urges them to relocate to the kitchen in the rectory with another chair for Charlie. Without needing to be asked, Dean immediately starts helping him with lunch while Sam and Balthazar clear the table of the gifts still left laying around. Charlie looks around the room with a wry smile, but if she has anything to say, she doesn’t say it.

She waits until they’re all seated at the table. Dean is practically inhaling his scrambled eggs and Charlie watches him with wide eyes. “You know you don’t actually have to eat right?”

“Practice.” Dean manages between bites. “Gotta get used to eating normally for when we Fall, right?”

Sam rolls his eyes and mutters something about how Dean has never eaten normally. It gets a snort of laughter from Balthazar that he quickly covers with a cough when Castiel kicks him in the shin under the table. They have a guest and if anyone tries to start anything, he will not let them go unpunished for it.

“It’s an ongoing process to teach them manners.” Castiel smiles tightly, giving Dean a warning look when he reaches for his third piece of toast in as many minutes. “You’re welcome to have some if you would like.” He gestures at the extra plate he put out for her. “We made more than enough.”

Balthazar takes her plate before she can answer and puts a little bit of everything on it. “Angel or not, you won’t find better cooking than Cassie’s and you’d be a damn fool not to try it. Eat up and tell us about the tablets.”

Charlie gives him a side glance before daintily picking up her fork. She eats with far more reserve than Dean does, but she seems a little more eager to try everything than Sam did. It’s only after she’s tried everything and washed it down with a glass of orange juice that she sits back and tells them what she knows. Castiel didn’t have any expectations for what might be on the tablets beyond what Dean had told them about instructions, but according to Charlie it is known that at least three of the tablets are tied to heaven, hell, and purgatory.

“Rumour has it that those tablets are just about how to kill leviathan, or it holds the secret to some big weapon against demons, or angels.” Charlie shrugs, waving her fork around as she talks. “But other rumours say that they have information about _doors_.”

“What do you mean by ‘doors’?” Castiel asks slowly, his hope warring with his curiosity. “The doors to heaven and hell?”

“Bingo.” She drops her voice, whispering barely loud enough for them to hear. “I can’t guarantee it, but there’s the possibility that those tablets have instructions on how to close the doors. _Permanently_. No angels would be able to get in or out of heaven. The same for demons and hell.”

Not even Dean moves to continue eating after that news. Castiel doesn’t know what to say, or what to do. It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts and organize them into something coherent. He clears his throat and she looks to him with wide eyes, chewing slowly.

“How many tablets are there?”

“No one knows.” Charlie shrugs and reaches over to take the last few strips of bacon. “Except for Metatron, and no one has seen him since the cavemen era. It’s going to be hit and miss with finding the two you want – not to mention there’s no guarantee what you want is going to be on them. It took me months to just find out what could _potentially_ be on the tablets.”

Dean pushes his plate away and sits back, rubbing a hand over his face. “Great. So our options are either to try taking down three of hell’s finest with two Falling angels and a couple of hunters, or go on a _potentially_ wild goose chase to find as bunch of tablets to take to a prophet to read. Thanks a lot, _Jediael_.”

She makes a face at him for using her real name. “I said I had information to _help_ , not that it would make things _easier_.” Talking doesn’t stop her from eating and she continues to pick her plate clean as she does. “No one up top is even talking about the tablets and I had to dig deep to find out just that. I managed to sneak down here right now because things always get a little shaky up there on Christmas. All the extra praying sends everyone into a tail spin. I’ll look for anything about locations and see if I can’t find something more about content.”

“Thank you.” Castiel says softly, pushing away from the table. “We appreciate everything that you’ve given us. It’s quite a lot to think about.”

“Understatement.” Sam sighs, although he doesn’t look nearly as lost as Balthazar does.

This is something well beyond the depth of humans and Castiel feels a little bad for him. He certainly feels like all of this is a little over his head, but Castiel trusts that Dean and Sam will discuss it thoroughly. He hopes they’ll include him and Balthazar too, but this seems like something they need to talk about first on their own. There isn’t much that he thinks he’ll be able to contribute until they decide whether searching for the tablets is a viable option or not.

“Cassie, don’t worry about the dishes.” Balthazar reaches out to stop him from picking anything up off the table. “We’ve got this. You go get ready.”

“I still have a few hours.”

“A few hours that you’re going to want to spend either preparing for Christmas dinner or cleaning the Church.” He makes a shooing motion. “I know you, Cassie. Just go get ready now and we’ll clean up.”

Dean stands up too and starts gathering the dishes. “For once, I agree with the bastard. Go ahead, Cas.”

Rather than argue with them about it, Castiel leaves them for a quick shower. Despite how quickly he gets ready, his mind doesn’t stop even once in contemplating everything Charlie told them. His lunch sits uneasily in his stomach and it’s an effort not to think about all the effects Falling will have on Sam and Dean.

He’s halfway dressed with a toothbrush in his mouth and trying to fix his hair in the mirror when someone knocks at the door. The knocking continues until he spits out his mouthful of toothpaste. “I’ll be out in a minute, Balthazar. You can hold it.”

“Cas, it’s me. Can I come in?”

He glances at the door, quickly running over the pros and cons of being alone in the bathroom with Dean again. Just remembering the last time they were together in here sets his heart rate rising. Before he reaches over and unlocks the door, Castiel finishes brushing his teeth. Dean ducks in quickly and his eyes go wide when he sees him in the process of doing up his belt. He takes in the open shirt too before turning to face the door while he locks it again.

“Let me know when you’re decent.”

Castiel glances down at his bare chest and shifts on his feet. Would it be so bad for Dean to see him half dressed? It wouldn’t be the first time and it will undoubtedly not be the last. And if they’re supposed to be _more_ now, shouldn’t he start getting comfortable with Dean seeing him in some state of undress? There is every possibility that at some point in the future he and Dean might be much more naked together than this.

“You can look if you want, Dean.” He says the words on a whisper as he cinches his belt, hating that he can’t get his voice any louder. “Just don’t stare too much. And don’t touch me until I’m fully dressed.”

Dean drops his forehead against the door, but he doesn’t turn around. “Just do up your shirt, Cas. I’ll look when you actually want me to.”

He can’t stop remembering his hand on Dean’s shoulder, or how close he’d been standing, or when Dean had hugged him from behind. At least there is one truth Castiel can tell him now. “I would have done it up before letting you in if I was completely uncomfortable by this.”

“I know. Just – could you do it up, please? I’m not a saint here and you’re really fucking tempting.”

Castiel quickly does up his shirt, slightly thankful for Dean’s discretion. “You’re an _angel_. I’m fairly certain that trumps ‘saint’. You can turn around now.”

“True.” Dean sighs and faces him. “But I won’t be an angel for long.”

It takes him one long step to cross the bathroom to where Castiel is standing by the tub. He hugs him tightly, his head resting heavy on Castiel’s shoulder. His automatic response is to wrap his arms around Dean too, fingers curling in the back of his pajama top.

“Is that what you came to talk about?” He asks softly, putting his chin on Dean’s shoulder. It’s rather nice to just hold each other like this. It’s something he could easily get lost in.

“Seemed like the best time.” Dean shrugs and wiggles a little closer, wrapping his arms just that more tightly around Castiel’s waist. “You looked pretty upset by the news in the basement and I don’t know how long it’ll be before I can get you alone again. So, y’know, I thought now would be okay. Is it?”

Castiel smiles and squeezes him reassuringly. “Yes, Dean. Now is fine to talk about this.” He gently pushes him back a step to look him in the eye. “I will, however, need to continue getting ready. I have to shave still.”

Dean lifts a hand to his face, rubbing his thumb along the curve of Castiel’s jaw and up his cheek. “I dunno, I kinda like the peach fuzz. You could stand to go a day without shaving.”

Without warning, Dean leans in and kisses him gently. It’s soft, sweet, and surprisingly short. Castiel almost leans after him when he steps away, wanting to chase after the kiss. If they’re kissing, Dean won’t be able to start talking about how he’s Falling. Just thinking about it makes Castiel’s stomach turn, twisting with guilt.

“Thought you had to shave?” Dean quirks an eyebrow at him, a smug smile tilting his lips.

“You’re blocking the counter.” Castiel points out, gesturing at the sink behind him.

They squeeze past each other and Dean drops the lid on the toilet so he can sit down while Castiel gets the things he needs out of the cabinet. Dean doesn’t say anything, watching with a curious tilt to his head while Castiel spreads a thin layer of foam on his face before starting to shave. He leans one elbow on the counter and props his cheek against his fist, never looking away.

Castiel glances at him when he shakes the razor clean in the water. “You’re taking this news about Falling a lot better than I would have expected.”

Dean shrugs and looks down at the water swirling in the sink. “I like humanity, and I like you. Falling just means I’m going to be around a hell of a lot more and I’ve got my baby to get around in. It probably won’t really sink in until I don’t have any mojo left, but I think I’ll be okay as long as I’ve got you and Sam.” A small smile lifts the corners of his mouth as he reaches out to stick a finger under the tap, spreading the water. “Losing my mojo isn’t much of a downside. It’s only going to really suck shit if we lose and end up having to live through the goddamn _apocalypse_.”

That doesn’t make Castiel feel any better. He still feels like he’s partially responsible for this. Would Dean still be Falling if Castiel had refused to give him the amulet? Or if he’d never become friends with him? He finds it hard to believe that Dean doesn’t think he’ll be affected by suddenly being _human_. Being human might look easy from the eyes of an angel but there are millions of people who struggle with humanity daily and they’ve never known anything else.

“But you –”

“It’s fine, Cas.” Dean looks up at him and his smile falls, uncertainty clouding his eyes. “Does it really matter if I’m an angel or not?”

“Of course not.” Castiel says softly, not looking away from his reflection. “You know exactly what I feel for you. All of that is for _who_ you are, not _what_ you are.”

“Then there’s no problem.” He stands and his smile reflects back at Castiel from over his shoulder as Dean steps up behind him. “If you and that dickhead brother of yours could fight demons before we came along, then Sam and I can do it too after we’ve Fallen. Hey, at least we’re not going to be doing it the painful way.”

He looks away only to wash the last of the foam from his face. “What would be the painful way?”

“Ripping out our grace while we’re in heaven and hurtling to Earth without a vessel at a couple thousand miles per hour.” Dean shrugs when Castiel looks up again. “Best I know, when we do it like that it hurts like a bitch, but you get your very own body. You land in a belly and get born human without really knowing who or what you were.”

“That sounds unpleasant.” Castiel frowns and grabs a towel to dry his face and turns around.

Something is gnawing away at the back of his mind. How long will it take for Dean to realize that once he falls he’ll be fragile too. There won’t be any more miraculous healing. If Sam, Castiel or anyone else gets hurt again, Dean won’t be able to save them. If _Dean_ gets hurt, the pain and the blood won’t just disappear. He’ll have to suffer through it just like anyone else. Castiel isn’t sure if that’s something he can stand to see.

Any thought of mentioning it is discarded the moment Castiel lowers the towel. Dean’s smile is genuine but there’s a tightness to his eyes, like he’s burying his worry deep. That’s something Castiel can relate to. It’s not exactly healthy, but it is something very _human_ to do with upsetting things. If Dean doesn’t want to think about what will happen to him right now, then Castiel won’t push and remind him exactly what he’s going to lose when he Falls.

Instead, he holds the towel out to Dean to hang up behind him and gives him a small smile. “I guess I should start looking into building additional rooms, hm?”

“What for?”

“For you and Sam, obviously. I should probably give Balthazar his own room too. I have the feeling that he’ll be around more often once he finds out you’re staying here.” Castiel turns back to the sink to put away his things, continuing to describe the possibility of a living room with a bigger TV for Dean’s shows and full of shelves for all their books. And it would be nice to have a proper dining room with a table big enough to seat all of them plus guests comfortably.

He doesn’t realize that he’s describing a _home_ until Dean pulls him around by his arm and kisses him with a smile. Castiel’s hands curl in the front of Dean’s shirt and he tries hard not to think about how Dean is pressed in close, backing him up against the counter. His hands frame Castiel’s face, holding him in place as he kisses him several times. They’re short little kisses that draw a matching smile out of him by the time Dean stops and drops his hands to his hips, their foreheads resting together.

“You didn’t even consider finding us a place to stay somewhere else, did you?” Dean whispers into the space between them.

It’s a little surprising to realize that no, he hadn’t thought even once about Dean and Sam living somewhere else. “I like having you both here.”

“Good luck ever getting rid of us.” He laughs and tilts his chin up to brush one more kiss against Castiel’s lips. “Thanks, Cas. And that goes double for trusting Charlie too.”

“You trust her and I trust you. And she made a fairly persuasive argument for her case.” Castiel smiles and pushes lightly at Dean’s chest. They should leave the bathroom soon before Balthazar works himself up over something. “Come on. If we’re going to have a guest distracting you for the rest of the day, we need to get started now.”

The kitchen is completely clean when Castiel and Dean rejoin everyone. Balthazar looks up from the table and narrows his eyes at Dean, but he doesn’t say anything. Charlie and Sam are standing by the wall of research, pointing and discussing the various things. She looks impressed and Castiel can’t help the surge of pride that even angels are finding his research worthwhile.

Prep for dinner goes quicker than Castiel expected and before he knows it, he and Balthazar are heading off to clean the Church for mass. Dean and Sam opt to stay behind and catch up with Charlie since it’s been so long since they saw her last. Perhaps it would have been better if they hadn’t mentioned to Castiel what they were going to discuss before he left.

Throughout the whole mass, Castiel is distracted with thinking about Charlie’s suggestion that she be a mole for them. She doesn’t know about Bobby and the others, but she would certainly still be an advantage for them. While Bobby’s team hears everything the angels _say_ , Charlie would be able to find out what they don’t. There’s so much that she’s already brought to them that Bobby’s team had no idea about, and Castiel definitely agrees that she would be a great asset to them. The only thing that worries him is her safety.

Heaven doesn’t know that Charlie is down here. If they find out that she’s working with them, who knows what they’ll do to her. It may have been her choice to find Dean and Sam in the first place, but can they really ask her to put herself in danger too? What if heaven forces her to Fall too? He already feels partially responsible for Dean and Sam Falling. Would Castiel’s conscience be able to bear the weight of the guilt if Charlie Falls? Castiel never gets the chance to voice his concerns. By the time mass is over, Charlie is gone. Sam and Dean are alone in the kitchen and crowded around Sam’s new laptop.

“Charlie said she had to go back before anyone noticed she was gone.” Dean glances up from the laptop briefly. “She said to tell you it was nice meeting you and she would’ve said goodbye, but she was already pushing it – No, Sam. I said take the _left path_. Didn’t you listen to what the orc said?”

“I did, but I’m not doing that quest. I’m hunting for boar pelts and I’ll go that way on the way back. Two quests, one trip.” Sam shoves his shoulder when Dean leans in close and tries to take over the keyboard. “This is _my_ character. If you want to play so badly, get your own computer.”

Balthazar takes the long way around the table to see what they’re doing. He crinkles his nose, rolls his eyes, and continues on to the bathroom while Castiel checks the small turkey in the oven. It sounds like they’re playing a game and he has no interest in asking about it or interrupting their bickering as it slides into Enochian.

At least the fighting doesn’t last long as Dean comes to help him fairly soon. This time, Castiel ties the apron around Dean to keep his new pajamas from getting messy. When he’s sure that Sam isn’t looking and Balthazar is still in the bathroom, he kisses Dean on the cheek in deference to the instructions of the apron. Dean’s smile is just a little silly as he takes over the tasks Castiel’s gives him.  He’s shown quite the interest in cooking – not just with eating it, but in all aspects. It’s nice to have something they can do together that Balthazar has no desire to intrude upon.

While dinner is cooked, eaten, and cleaned up, one topic dominates their conversations. Even if it’s still technically Christmas day, Charlie’s arrival and her news has made them realize that they simply can’t take a break from their lives for the holidays. They can’t just have a day where they don’t think about what needs to be done.

By the time Castiel puts the last dish away, they have determined three things. Thanks to Castiel’s research, they can split their time between hunting Lilith, Alistair, Azazel and his puppets, and finding the locations of the tablets. They need to find as many of the tablets as they can and hope that out of everything they find, two of them are the ones they want. Granted, that’s only if Charlie’s rumours prove true. There might not be a tablet to close heaven, or another with the instructions to close hell.

Of course, they’ll still have to find the prophet. And Dean and Sam need to protect themselves from being sensed by the other angels before then. With the archangel’s protection, they won’t be able to simply kidnap him the prophet to get them to help. Castiel was, of course, opposed to this suggestion the moment Balthazar made it. At least now they’re all agreed that once they find the prophet, they’ll _ask_ for help instead of using force. None of them want to think about what they’ll have to do if the answer to their request is ‘no’.

“So, how are we going to do this?” Balthazar looks at the notes and the maps spread out on the table.

“I’m already looking up anything in human history about tablets in ‘mysterious’ languages.” Sam gestures at his laptop, not even looking up from the screen. “There’s a lot, but nothing in Enochian yet. Charlie said she’s going to try looking into locations, but that might take her awhile.”

Balthazar shakes his head and picks up a piece of paper. “I didn’t mean deskwork. I meant _fieldwork._ With you two Falling, you can’t go zapping all over the place so we’re doing things the slow way and we can only hope that the tablets are within driving distance.”

Dean shares a tight look with Sam before glancing at the map on the wall. “If it’s off continent, we’ll fly to it. In the meantime, we can drive to possible locations.”

“Are you going to stop saving seals?” Castiel asks, the question having bothered him for most of dinner.

“I think so.” Sam runs a hand through his hair and sits back in his chair as Dean slumps down onto the one next to him. “We know for a fact we have until the next Hunter’s moon before they can try the sacrifice at the Devil’s Gate again. We’d just be wasting tablet searching time and our mojo if we keep trying to stop every seal we hear about.”

Castiel still feels overwhelmed with this. After all they’ve learned today and the heavy meal they just ate, he feels very tired. It’s rather early, but he wouldn’t mind going to bed – if only to get away from this conversation for a little while so he can just _think_. He leans on his hands at the sink. Not only does he have to think about the tablets, the seals, and what they’re going to do about Azazel and the others, but he also needs to think about his home life.

There’s money to save, rooms to build, and he still has all his duties to the Church and the parishioners. In the grand scheme of things, his duties to an absent God seem small in comparison to the mission of finding the tablets. But running the Church and the daily sermons are the last tether to normalcy that he has. If it wasn’t for that, Castiel might get swept away completely by angels, demons and the apocalypse. This was his life before everything came crashing down around his ears and he doesn’t want to give it up.

He comes back to the conversation as Balthazar is crossing the kitchen to the map, tapping it and drawing his fingers from one corner to the other. “If we split up, we’ll be able to cover more ground. Cassie has set a stunning example that being alone is idiotic beyond compare. So, teams then?”

“Dibs on Cas.” Dean says quickly, grinning when Balthazar turns a cold look to him. “Hey, it only makes sense to balance the teams out. One angel, one human. And we all know you’d pick working with Sam over working with me any day of the week.”

There’s no denial, but Balthazar gives Castiel a pleading look. He shakes his head and shrugs. “Dean’s logic is sound. I agree that it makes better sense for the groups to be evenly matched. And you two would fight too much if I went with Sam.”

“Fine.” He glares at Dean again. “But if I hear Cassie complain even once –”

“The majority of our time will be spent here.” He interrupts, pretending he doesn’t notice the surprised looks from everyone. “I can’t leave the Church.”

Sam presses his lips together in a tight line and Balthazar looks like he’s on the verge of saying something. Dean beats him to it. “I think the _apocalypse_ kind of takes precedent here, Cas. Can’t you get some other priest to cover for you while we do this?”

“We would have to move too many things for that. I’m not going to give up my home and my job when we can just as easily do everything from here.” Castiel turns away and opens the fridge, trying to look like he’s doing something worthwhile.

Balthazar makes a contemptuous noise that grates on Castiel’s nerves. “It wouldn’t be all that hard to move everything to a hotel, or digitize it for access from our laptops. Cover up the basement entrance and hide everything hunter-ish and you’ll be fine.”

“No.“We need someone to research the tablets locations, find the prophet, and track Lilith, Azazel and Alistair. Since I have a job right here, it makes the most sense that I stay. If there’s something we can do in between mass, then Dean and I can drive or I can take a few days off here and there. I can’t just _leave_.”

“Cassie, you really –”

“I’m not leaving!” He manages to keep from raising his voice, but he does slam the fridge door to accentuate his point.

Castiel knows it sounds like he’s just being selfish, and he is, but none of them would understand how he doesn’t want to lose the only normalcy he has to his life. They’ve never had anything _normal._ Balthazar hasn’t had a job or a proper home since he was a teenager, and Dean and Sam aren’t even human. The most they know of humanity is what they’ve learned from TV, movies, and exposure.

A hand falls on his shoulder and Castiel turns to find Dean next to him, concern filling every line of his face. He finds it hard to keep Dean’s gaze. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine.” He sighs and covers Dean’s hand with his own, carefully pulling it from his shoulder. Castiel holds it longer than necessary, taking comfort in how Dean squeezes his fingers reassuringly. How is he supposed to explain to them that in recent months his life has spiraled so far outside of his control that having to leave behind the one stable part of it terrifies him?

No one asks him about it again that night, though his mood doesn’t get any better. Balthazar retires to the basement first, feigning being too tired. Castiel knows better. He’s as sick of his mood as Castiel is. It’s a sour note to end Christmas on and the only saving grace he can think of for it is that he’ll be sleeping next to Dean when he finally goes to bed. That is perhaps the entire reason why he takes his pajamas to the bathroom less than an hour after Balthazar disappears into the basement.

To Castiel’s disappointment, Dean isn’t waiting for him in his bedroom like he has been on previous nights. He’s still sitting at the table across from Sam and frowning at Balthazar’s borrowed laptop screen. But it makes sense, really. There’s so much research they’ll have to do in the coming days that it would be silly of Dean and Sam not to make use of their angelic perks while they still have them. It might be what keeps Castiel up all night too. He’s not entirely sure how easily he’ll be able to get to sleep without Dean next to him.

Castiel hovers around his bedroom door after hanging up his clothes. He’s all ready for bed, but Dean isn’t making any move to leave the table and Castiel doesn’t know how to ask that he join him. After a few moments, he gives up. He’ll try to sleep alone and if that doesn’t work, he can always get up and come help them.

Sam responds to his quiet ‘good night’, but Dean doesn’t. He’s staring hard at the screen, eyes flicking from one side to the other as he reads faster than Castiel can ever hope to achieve. A dark hole opens in Castiel’s chest and he presses his hand against it when he curls on his side under the blankets. He faces the wall and leaves half of his small bed free, just in case Dean notices that he left the bedroom door wide open and he gets the hint.

Sleep doesn’t come easily. His mind won’t shut off or stop thinking about why Dean is suddenly so closed off from him. It could be because he’s unhappy with Castiel’s refusal to leave the Church. Maybe Dean sees it as Castiel picking the Church over him? Does he think that this is Castiel’s decision regarding the physical aspects of their relationship? How is he even supposed to start thinking about that when he has tablets, prophets, seals, demons and the _apocalypse_ to worry about?

His throat feels tight when a thought worms its way to the forefront of his mind. Maybe this whole thing with Dean was a bad idea. Is there any worse a time to have to deal with a relationship – the kind that Castiel has no experience in – than the apocalypse? How is he supposed to focus on saving the world and all of humanity when he can be so easily distracted by Dean?

He nearly doesn’t hear the click of the door. The footsteps on the floor are almost silent, but the rustling of the blanket and the wash of cold air as it’s lifted is answer enough. Dean fills the space behind him, a line of warmth all down his back. There’s no chance for him to roll over to curl against Dean’s side like he’s done every night previous. Instead, Dean presses up behind him and spreads a hand over his stomach as his other arm works its way under the pillow.

“Sorry.” Soft kisses fall along the edge of his collar between whispered words as Dean tucks his knees behind Castiel’s. “I was caught up in what I was reading and wasn’t paying attention. Are you mad?”

Relief floods through him and Castiel immediately discards every worried thought he had. No, he isn’t going to give this up. Even though his home and his job give Castiel a sense of normalcy in his life, and Dean is a whirlwind ripping everything up by its roots, he can’t bear to let him go. Too much has happened between them for him to do that now. Dean gives him comfort in more ways than Castiel can count.

He covers Dean’s hands with his own, linking their fingers and closing his eyes to the shadows on the wall. Castiel doesn’t need to say anything when he can feel Dean’s smile against the back of his neck. With that worry settled, the only thing that still plagues him is the guilty knowledge that he’s being selfish. Dean and Sam are willing to give up everything that they are to help save the world and Castiel is clinging to this. He can’t even claim that he’s abandoning his parishioners since the Church would send a replacement priest if he took a leave of absence.

The decision is made for him barely more than a week later.

They’ve spent days searching through the many volumes Castiel has in the basement and combing the internet for anything even hinting at a tablet and so far, they have a handful of possibilities but nothing concrete. Castiel has prayed to Charlie more than he has God in the last week and he feels strangely unbothered by that. The only time he prays to God now are during his sermons when he leads the congregation into it. There’s no more quick prayers thought silently before he picks up his fork or after he’s tucked himself into bed. Worse yet, he can’t quite remember when he stopped saying those.

With mass freshly finished, Castiel is almost immediately caught up in conversation with a few of the parishioners. He almost wishes they would have more to ask him than small talk about what he did for New Years. All he can tell them is that he spent it with family, completely skipping over that they spent most of the night drinking and doing research and that when midnight struck, Dean had sat in his lap and kissed him long enough that Balthazar dumped a glass of water over their heads – which was completely uncalled for.

Despite his slightly impaired judgment at the time, Castiel is certain they hadn’t been kissing nearly long enough for that to have been necessary. And Dean had barely been actually _sitting_ in his lap. It was more like he was mostly straddling Castiel’s knees, claiming that it was easier to kiss him sitting than it would have been standing.

Of course these are all things Castiel can’t tell his parishioners. He can only smile, give half-truths, and deflect the question back to them. He tries to listen to their lives, to their joys and sorrows, but so much preoccupies his mind that he doesn’t give them the attention they deserve. For a week now he’s been subject to Balthazar’s displeased glares and Sam’s heavy silence on a subject Castiel refuses to talk about. Dean hasn’t brought it up either, but Castiel knows that he wants to.

But looking at these people now, the ones who come up to him to talk about his life and the ones who mill around waiting for him to step into the confessional, he can’t abandon them for a life on the road with no guarantee that he’ll return. Castiel has never envied Balthazar’s nomadic lifestyle. He can tolerate leaving for a week or two at a time for a vacation, but he can’t imagine not returning to his cozy little home for months on end.

This place is _safe_. No angels or demons can get to them here and he doesn’t understand why they would want to give that up. It makes sense that someone should stay here to continue the research. What does it matter if it’s him and Dean?

Castiel shakes those thoughts from his mind and excuses himself from the current conversation. If he ever wants anyone to leave, he needs to get the confessionals over and done with. A few children are standing by the altar behind the pulpit, looking with wide eyes at the many candles, drapery and vessels positioned across its surface. The only thought he spares for it is a kind warning to look but not touch as he passes them on his way to the confessionals.

In hindsight, he should have directed them back to their parents or at least stopped to put out the candles. Not even half way through the first confession, cries of surprise have Castiel tripping over his feet to get out of the confessional. His heart jumps to this throat at the flames quickly spreading across the altar and catching on the curtains that decorate the back wall. For a moment, the scared shouts around him become the screams from his nightmares. He’s rooted to where he stands, caught between watching the fire quickly eating away at the back wall as it climbs to the rafters and the visions that have haunted him since childhood.

Someone knocks into him on their way past, running for the exit. Castiel stumbles back against the confessional door. He nearly loses his footing, sliding halfway to the floor before a hand catches his arm and drags him back to his feet.

“Come on, Cassie!” Balthazar hisses in his ear.

Castiel is vaguely aware of Dean and Sam in his peripheral, ushering out the last of the parishioners before they follow. He staggers along next to Balthazar, barely able to stay upright as the smoke chokes him. Dean is next to him not long after they get outside, a comforting presence against Castiel’s side as Sam stands behind him. His hands are shaking and his knees feel weak. Balthazar takes the brunt of his weight as Castiel leans into the arm wrapped around his shoulders. He blindly reaches for Dean’s hand, not caring about who sees it.

They’re standing by the fence and most of the parishioners are gathered in the parking lot, watching as the fire rages, crackling along the roof of the Church. Castiel should look away, but he can’t. The dance of flames as they eat through the walls is hypnotizing, even if he sees two scenes at once - both the orphanage and the Church burning before his eyes. 

He flinches at the sound of the roof caving in and the rush of heat as windows shatter. The tingling sensation of Dean’s wing folding over his back and arms is a welcome distraction, but it does nothing to stop the fire as it licks along the hallway toward the office and the rectory. A column of black smoke climbs high into the clear winter sky, red and orange flickering at its base as the flames tower well above the fallen steeple.

For the second time in his life, Castiel watches a fire swallow his home.

When the fire engines arrive, the sound of their sirens blessedly drowns out the noise of the blaze. It isn’t until the fire is put out what feels like ages later that Castiel can truly relax. Even then, he’s shaken. He doesn’t even notice that silent tears have been streaking his cheeks until he’s led to the back seat of the Impala and Dean wipes them from his face. As soon as he’s seated on the edge, the door still open and Dean standing in front of him, Castiel wraps his arms around himself and doubles over. The shaking isn’t stopping and the fire still burns behind his eyes. He can still feel the heat on his skin and it’s no different than it was twenty years ago.

Dean’s hands slide over his back as he crouches in front of him, pressing his forehead to the top of Castiel’s head. “It’s going to be okay, Cas. No one got hurt. No one died. We’re all still here. Me, Sam, Balthazar – we’re all okay. Everyone’s okay.” His voice is steady and deep, soothing in a way that he desperately needs right now.

Castiel takes deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm down. He can hear Balthazar and Sam talking, explaining what happened the best that they can. They’re likely talking to the firemen or the police and Castiel is thankful for it. He’s not sure if he has the ability to speak, let alone stand and look at what the fire did to his home. The Church is ruined, he knows that much just from what he could hear. But he doesn’t know what happened to the rectory.

“You’re gonna be okay, Cas.” Dean whispers against his ear. “I’m right here.”

He unwraps his arms from around his waist and curls them over Dean’s back, grabbing handfuls of his shirt as he lifts his head enough to hide his face against his neck. Dean doesn’t hesitate to fold him in his arms and wings. A sense of peace and calm seeps through him and Castiel knows it’s Dean’s doing. He shouldn’t be wasting his powers like this, but Castiel can’t bring himself to complain.

No firemen or officers come to speak with him and Castiel has no concept of how long it takes for them to put out the entire fire. He doesn’t lift his head from Dean’s shoulder until Balthazar comes to tell him everyone is gone, leaving only the instructions that he needs to call the insurance company to file a claim. Of course he is also going to have to call the diocese to let them know what happened, and arrange either to be transferred to another Church or – _No_.

Castiel  goes still, barely even breathing as he mulls over the thought that just occurred to him. This most likely was just an unfortunate accident, but what if it wasn’t? What if it was a _sign_? Could this be God showing that he hasn’t given them up yet?

He couldn’t give up his parishioners or his home without good cause, and now he has one. The Bishop knows what happened in his past. It wouldn’t be a far cry at all to assume he would take a stress leave after another near miss with a fire. He hates that it happened, but this could be the excuse he needs to continue holding onto the life he had before Dean while still doing what needs to be done.

When he stands, he wobbles on his feet. The last thing he wants to see is what the fire did to the rectory. His whole life had been wrapped up in those walls and there are countless precious books on the shelves in the kitchen and the basement. At least all of his research is backed up and saved online. He’s never been materialistic and most everything superficial can be replaced. It’s the possibility of losing all that knowledge that bothers him the most.

From where he stands on the driveway, all he sees is the wall of his bedroom and the bathroom. They look a little wet, but untouched. Balthazar stops him from following the path around the corner to the garden and the back door.

“They said you shouldn’t go in. The roof was compromised by the fire and it could cave in at any moment. You’ll have to get it reinforced before you can go in and get things.”

“I’ll go with him.” Dean says from his side, one hand on the small of Castiel’s back and the other wrapped lightly around his elbow in case he wavers again. “If anything tries dropping on us, we’ll pop out. We’re just going to take a look, right Cas?”

He shakes his head and starts walking again. “We need to hide everything supernatural before inspectors come to assess the damage.” As the shaking ebbs away, hard determination is starting to set in again. This will likely bring nightmares tonight, but right now he knows his family is safe and it’s only material goods that got damaged. He can live with that. Today is nothing like the orphanage fire and he’ll move past it because there are things to do.

“We need a trailer to store everything in.” He looks back at Balthazar and Sam. “Can you get one? Dean and I will start salvaging what we can.”

“Cassie, you don’t have to do this right now. We can wait until tomorrow.”

Dean calls back over his shoulder. “I don’t think we’re going to be here tomorrow, guys. Just go get a trailer. The sooner we’re finished with this, the sooner we can find a hotel and crash.” He waits until they’re around the corner before he addresses Castiel privately. “That’s what you want, right?”

“Yes, Dean. Thank you.” He tries to give him a small smile and Dean’s arm moves from his waist to his shoulders, squeezing them tightly.

“Don’t worry about it, Cas. This was our home too and we’ll help out any way we can.”

There are a few surprises for him when he opens the door. Most of the roof is on the floor in pieces, the kitchen table crushed under it. The wall behind the stove and sink is sagging inward, the cupboards either in pieces on the floor or open and empty, all the plates and spices a shattered mess on what remains of the counter. The fire didn’t get as far as the fridge or the Christmas tree, thankfully. It’s a little smoke damaged, but otherwise okay. The truly surprising thing is that both of the bookshelves are gone from the wall closest to the Church.

Castiel stares at the spot where they had been and Dean nudges his shoulder with his own. “Sam did a little rescuing after we got the people out. Everything is in the shed and if the fire had gotten as far as your bedroom, we would’ve saved as much of it as we could.” He grins when Castiel looks at him. “Even saved the coats – shit, that’s right. Stay right here, I’m going to get yours. It’s winter, y’know?”

He’s gone and back in a blink, not bothering to walk the distance around the rectory to the shed. Castiel pulls his new trench coat on with a quiet thank you and glances at the fridge. Both the pictures on it are gone and a pang of loss stabs hard through his chest. With a sigh, he turns away from it to the basement. Dean’s helps to remove the door entirely, but the angel warding is still carved into the frame. To be frank, Castiel had forgotten all about removing these wards.

After a few minutes spent scraping the symbols out, they start making trips up and down the stairs. Almost everything is in neat filing boxes and chests, which does help with the process. The books will need boxes and he wishes he’d had the foresight to let Balthazar know to pick up some of those. Dean shrugs when Castiel chastising him for using his angelic powers, but it does help immensely when he simply lays his hands on the two standing shelves in the middle of the room and transports them outside without needing to waste the time cleaning them off.

By the time Balthazar and Sam appear in the driveway with a truck, more than half the basement is emptied. Dean looks at them critically as they climb out of the cab. “What took you so long?”

“Shut it. We were barely even gone a half hour.” Balthazar snaps, hunching his shoulders in his jacket. “The nearest U-Haul distributor is in Pontiac. There was a line and a ridiculous amount of paperwork to get a truck and enough boxes for all this crap. And I rented you a bloody storage unit to put all this stuff in so we’re not bogged down by this beast of a vehicle.”

“This ‘crap’ has saved your life more than once, and thank you. I didn’t think of doing that.” Castiel pats him on the shoulders as he passes him.

Dean unlatches the door to the back of the truck and slides it up. There are several empty storage crates stacked together in the back of the truck and they’re just what they need for the books. The truck is plenty big enough for them to store everything – even the shelves from the basement and the furniture from Castiel’s bedroom. After a little consideration, Castiel decides to take all of that too. He’s going to have to rebuild the rectory after this and it’s the perfect time to do the expansion he’ll need to accommodate everyone else.

With the extra hands and Dean and Sam’s superhuman strength, it doesn’t take more than a few hours to pack everything into the truck. There is nothing of value left inside the rectory except for the wreckage wrought by the fire and Castiel hopes the basic structure is salvageable. There was no use trying to pick through his office or the rest of the Church.

His phone had gone off a few times, but he let all the calls go to voicemail. If it’s anyone from the diocese, they can wait. Before they leave, he locks the shed and leaves the car keys in the glove box. He won’t be needing the car for a while. They group around the back of the truck after it’s locked, looking between one another as they try to figure out what to do next.

“If we go straight to Pontiac, we could unload into the storage unit today and return the truck.” Balthazar suggests, though he looks as if that’s the absolute last thing he wants to do. “Then we can find a nice motel and _die_ for the night.”

Castiel nods in agreement. “It’s a decent plan and we won’t have to do it tomorrow. I’ll drive the truck, Balthazar you take your car, and Dean – I suppose you’ll drive the Impala?”

“Seems like.” Sam cuts in, turning a grin on Dean. “I doubt he’d let me touch it.”

“Not until I’m sure you can drive, bitch.” He rolls his eyes and shoves Sam’s shoulder. After a moment of amused grins, they share a look between them that speaks volumes though Castiel can’t read it.

Sam nods and turns pleading eyes to him. “Cas, can I ride with you?”

“Of course.” He doesn’t need to be a psychic to know what just happened. Dean wants Sam to drive with him to make sure he’s okay. The drive to Pontiac is barely twenty minutes at the best of times and in winter it is closer to a half hour. That’s too much time for Castiel to be alone with his thoughts right now and having Sam with him will definitely help.

They waste no more time with leaving. Castiel doesn’t want to linger or think about leaving his home. It’s just a physical place, but he’s spent the last several years of his life here and he owns the land next to the Church. They agreed to let him build the office as an extension to his home, crossing the property line. But now, as he spends the drive plotting how he’ll remodel his home, he thinks he might leave them as two separate buildings.

Everyone will know that the rectory is next door and they can easily go there instead of the Church. If he can build a proper living room he can easily see anyone there. Or he could build a office in his home too. Sam is more than happy to talk about the ideas during the drive. He even opens his laptop (pristinely saved before the fire got anywhere near the rectory) and finds websites to help with building design.

When the question about money comes up, Castiel winces. He was a little overzealous with his spending for Christmas and his wallet is suffering for it. His insurance will cover the damages, but he won’t be able to afford building additions for awhile. Sam suggests Balthazar’s method of raising money and it’s certainly an option. Though Castiel might be able to get paid stress leave, he still won’t be making the same amount of money – at least not enough to rebuild their home. Not to mention that now they’ll be eating out for almost every meal and living in motels now. That’s going to cost them too.

“Don’t worry.” Sam looks up from his screen, smiling brightly. “Dean and I can help. Take us to a couple of casinos and we can walk away filthy rich.”

“You’re going to cheat.”

“Just a little. It’s no different than what you and Balthazar do at cards and pool.” He shrugs and flips his laptop shut. “It’s the quickest way to get the money that we need. You’re the only one with a bank account, right? As long as we’re with you, we could make it so you win and then you can walk out with the money and put it straight into your account.”

Castiel frowns at the road ahead and the Welcome to Pontiac sign as they pass it. “I’m not sure if it’s entirely moral to use my stress leave for that. It might raise some questions with the Church.”

“Don’t tell them?”

“Balthazar has a bank account too, you know. He doesn’t use it often, but it’s from when he was a respectable citizen once upon a time and he doesn’t have any problems lying or cheating anyone out of their money.”

Sam’s laugh is sharp and surprised. “You sly fox, I know what you’re doing.”

“It was merely a suggestion.” Castiel flashes a smug smile at him as he follows after Balthazar’s car when it turns. “I am a priest, you know.”

He’s still laughing when they reach the storage facility. It takes them a little over an hour to unload everything, their bags of clothes and weapons already stored in the trunks of the cars. Then it falls to finding a motel that accommodates all their needs. Specifically Castiel’s level of cleanliness and a kitchenette, Dean’s request for cable TV, and Balthazar’s distance to the nearest liquor store. Sam doesn’t care either way as long as they have a decent wifi connection.

Of course they first have to sit through Dean and Balthazar bickering about the sleeping arrangement. Castiel stops that before they even leave the parking lot. “We are getting one room with two beds of any size, I don’t care which. Sam and Dean don’t need to sleep, and that leaves us the beds. It works out just fine.”

Castiel pointedly does not remind any of them that he and Dean have been sharing his bed for well over the last week. He goes around the Impala to the passenger seat and opens the door, Dean following his example and sliding into the driver’s seat. “Just follow us. I think there’s a motel a few blocks from here and if we’re lucky, they’ll have a room available.”

Dean turns the car on the moment he’s inside, giving him a grin when Castiel reaches across the seat to take his hand, seeking physical comfort in the small touch. He drives to the motel without needing any directions and Castiel welcomes the comfortable silence between them filled by Dean’s music instead of their voices.

The room at the motel matches all their standards and the first thing Castiel does is shower. The evening is well upon them and Balthazar orders Chinese take out  for dinner before Castiel is even out of the bathroom. Dean makes himself familiar with the TV, stretching out on the bed he claims as Castiel’s while Sam sets up the laptops on the small table in the kitchenette, leaving enough room for the boxes of food when it arrives. While he eats Castiel takes over one of the computers to log onto the Church’s servers and access all the necessary documents he needs for making the claims. It may be getting late, but at least some of the calls he has to make can be placed at any time of the day.

For a small time after they’re finished eating, Balthazar disappears. He claims there’s something he has to go get and no one questions him. No one asks where he got them or why when he returns with some cheap magnets that look like they belong on the fridge of a family with children. One is a sunflower with a smiley face on it and the other a little strawberry. The fridge in their kitchenette is a little on the short side, but he still hangs two photos on it and Castiel’s breath catches in his throat when he looks up to see what he’s doing.

“Where did you -”

“Grabbed them before we ran to help. They’re the only pictures you’ve got, Cassie. I didn’t want you to lose them.” Balthazar grins, nearly puffing up with pride. He pats Castiel’s shoulder as he passes by, heading to his bed to catch the last half of whatever show Dean is watching.

Castiel doesn’t even know how to articulate his thanks. It does lighten his mood considerably and he doesn’t quite so worn out when he finally crawls into bed next to Dean after making a half dozen phone calls. He doesn’t mind that the TV is on, or that Sam is still clicking away at the laptops. He’s done all that he can do today and he’ll likely spend most, if not all, of tomorrow either making phone calls or out on errands. Right now he’s exhausted and he needs to sleep even though he doesn’t want to. Every time he closes his eyes he can see fire and it makes his chest feel too tight.

Dean remains sitting against the headboard, his hip and legs pressed against Castiel’s back. As soon as they’re settled, Dean’s fingers start combing gently through his hair and that overwhelming sense of peace fills him again. The edges of his mind start to feel fuzzy and his head empties as a yawn parts his lips. Sleep is overtaking him unnaturally fast and he whispers a quiet ‘thank you’.

“Don’t worry about nightmares tonight, Cas.” Dean murmurs, leaning over to press a kiss to his temple. “Just get some rest. Tomorrow is gonna be a busy day. We’ve got work to do.”


	13. The Prophet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think we’ll have to play that by ear.” Castiel glances between all three faces directed toward him. “We’ll meet up when we can, but for now, we find the tablets. Those are our top priority. Dean and I will get started as soon as everything is in order here. If that’s alright with you?” He looks pointedly at Dean. They’re a team now, in all aspects, and he shouldn’t make all these decisions on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Pappcave's Reverse!Verse](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/Papp%27s-reverse%21verse). Papp has written a few things for it already (found at the link above) - part of Castiel's past included. 
> 
> And he was nice enough to do extra art for this fic too! Go give him some love!
> 
>  
> 
> **Updates the 15th and 30th of every month until the story is complete. And no, I'm sorry, I don't know how long it will be. For chapter statuses and information, please[check here.](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hunting+for+faith)**

The next day starts bright and early for everyone. Sam greets the morning with two lists that divide the planet in half depending on where his possible tablets might be. Some are the names of crypts in cemeteries, some are museums, others are private collections that only the angels will be able to pop in and take a look at.

Apparently Charlie contacted them during the night with a few more locations and those are just coordinates to places all over the globe. Castiel glances over the list while he eats his breakfast, leaning his hip against the kitchenette counter. He notes that very few of these places are actually in the country and he worries about using up Dean and Sam’s mojo in hopping all over the map. They should save their abilities for if they’re ever in a tight situation – if they’re outnumbered or one of them is gravely injured. At the rate they’re going, Balthazar is due for his own near death experience soon.

“When do you think we should start?” Sam asks, looking up from his laptop. He’s barely had the thing for a week and most of the time he’s on it. Castiel is going to have to speak to Balthazar about making sure to regulate his computer usage while they’re travelling together.

“As soon as possible would be best.” He folds the paper up and puts it in the inside pocket of his trench coat hanging over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “We should get to as many locations as we can while you still have your abilities. But I need to stay here for another day or two.” There are too many loose ends that he needs to tie up before he can leave Illinois.

Balthazar is sitting at the table, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee – his first, though Castiel is already working on his third. “Are you saying that Sam and I should head out?”

He looks over the rim of his mug at Castiel, eyes flicking over to Dean on the bed – still in his pajamas and still watching TV. Castiel doesn’t read anything into the gesture until Balthazar raises one of his eyebrows purposefully. For the life of him, he doesn’t understand what he means and wishes that for once his brother would remember that Castiel doesn’t know what most gestures mean. He answers with a confused frown and Balthazar rolls his eyes, looking back down at his mug.

“He’s trying to be subtle about how if they leave, we’ll be alone.” Dean speaks up while changes the channel. “Alone. Together. In a motel room.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, all of you.” Castiel hisses, turning away to toss his paper plate in the trash. “Dean, get up and get changed. I need to get a doctor’s note for stress leave before I see the Bishop today. And you should both get used to a morning ritual. Have something to eat and drink, then brush your teeth.”

Dean groans and turns the TV off before tossing the remote onto the other bed. “Do we _have_ to?”

Castiel’s only answer is a level glare. For a minute, Dean tries to challenge it and frowns back at him before he sighs and swings his legs off the bed. He grumbles in a variety of languages as he roots around in one of the duffle bags they repurposed for Dean and Sam’s clothing. As soon as he pulls his shirt off, Balthazar complains about how he should change in the bathroom and Castiel finds himself fascinated with the play of muscles over Dean’s back.

He turns away quickly, hoping that no one noticed his staring, and clears his throat. “You really should change in the bathroom, Dean.”

“Why? We’re a roomful of guys and I don’t have anything different from the rest of you.”

“You’ve got more freckles. It’s disgusting.” Balthazar drawls sarcastically and ignores Castiel’s glare. “Point in fact is that I don’t want to see your angel junk.”

Dean rolls his eyes and drops his pants. Sam is still wearing his clothing from yesterday and makes no effort to change as he steadily chews a breakfast wrap Balthazar picked up at the nearest McDonalds. That leaves Dean with a breakfast BLT and he eats that while doing up his belt one handed. Castiel hands him a glass of orange juice and sends Sam off to brush his teeth the moment he’s done.

“You’re like a doting mother, Cassie. It’s heartwarming.”

“They should get used to a proper morning ritual now before they’re human.” Castiel explains, pausing to narrow a suspicious glare at him. “Did _you_ brush your teeth?”

Balthazar quickly looks down at his coffee mug again. “The peanut gallery will shut up now.”

Feeling rather smug, Castiel picks up the folder of pages he printed last night using the motel’s wireless printer – a blessing he hadn’t been expecting. Everything is all filled out and he just needs to take them into the insurance company after his meeting with the Bishop. He’s not sure if he’s going to be included in the plans to rebuild the Church – or even if that effort is going to be made. They might just tear it down completely and sell the land to rebuild the Church elsewhere. If that’s the case, Castiel might be relocated and he doesn’t want to rebuild the rectory if that’s going to happen.

There are too many variables – which is why he’s not going to make any arrangements to have the ruined half of the rectory taken away until tomorrow. By then he should know what the plans are for the Church. After that – well, he and Dean can likely leave either tomorrow night or the morning after. In the meantime, they can try and find the current prophet. That’s something they haven’t touched on yet and it’s an itch at the back of his brain. He’ll have to talk to Dean about that soon. The tablets won’t be any good if they find them and still have no prophet to read them.

Balthazar and Sam pack up their bags and head outside when Castiel and Dean leave. They load their things in the back of Balthazar’s car and everyone huddles together against the cold between the two vehicles to discuss what happens next.

“When are we going to meet up again?” Sam asks, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his coat even if the weather doesn’t affect him. “If we’re on opposite sides of the country, or the world, it’ll be hard to see each other every few days or even every week.”

“I think we’ll have to play that by ear.” Castiel glances between all three faces directed toward him. “We’ll meet up when we can, but for now, we find the tablets. Those are our top priority. Dean and I will get started as soon as everything is in order here. If that’s alright with you?” He looks pointedly at Dean. They’re a team now, in all aspects, and he shouldn’t make all these decisions on his own.

Dean shrugs and leans back against the side of the Impala. “It’s fine with me. We’re going to need a place to come back to when all is said and done, so it makes sense for you to get everything taken care of before we go. ‘Til then, I’m happy to play chauffeur.” He tilts his head and slants a grin at him. “I’ll take any excuse to drive my baby and hang out with my babe.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t call him that.” Balthazar hisses as Sam snorts laughter.

He quickly composes himself and clears his throat when Castiel turns a glare on him. “We should – Dean, we should hide ourselves first. If we come across any angels, it’ll be better if they can’t sense us in the same city or anything.”

“Yeah, you do that. Don’t want to risk them figuring out our dastardly plan.” Balthazar steps out from between them to give them room. “Just hurry it up, will you? It’s not exactly sunny Hawaii out here.”

“Why don’t you start the car then?” Dean suggests, digging in his pocket with his other hand. He hands Castiel the keys to the Impala. “Get her nice and warmed up, we’ll be ready in a minute.”

Castiel briefly embraces Balthazar and wishes him luck, making sure he knows to keep him updated as often as they can. He does the same for Sam before slipping into the passenger seat of the Impala. He could easily take this opportunity to be the one to drive her, but Dean would complain or sulk and Castiel doesn’t feel like dealing with either result. Instead, he leans across the front seat and starts the car, trying hard to ignore the muted glow through the side window as Dean and Sam cloak themselves.

Dean is frowning down at his chest and rubbing it when he gets in the car. “This feels weird. I don’t like not being able to sense Sam.”

“Can you still pray to him?” He asks, waving at the other car as they back out of the spot next to them. “Would it reach you if I prayed to you?” Just to be on the safe side, Castiel thinks a quick prayer to Abdiel in reminder to put on his seat belt.

“Bobby beat that lesson into my head before I was even allowed to turn the car on in his heaven.” Dean grins, clicking the buckle into place. “Now, where to first?”

It takes them the better half of the morning to get the note from the doctor. The waiting room is what takes them so long and Dean is only happy with that simply because they have a TV in one corner and the assistants have a penchant for soap operas. Castiel is subjected to two Dr. Sexy episodes and one of Young and the Restless before his name is called.

He’s barely in the office for five minutes. All it takes is a mention that when he was a child he nearly died in a fire and how yesterday there was another fire that burned down his Church for the doctor to start writing a note. It’s set for at least two months and Castiel figures, if they need more time, he can always come back and attempt to act his way into getting another one. That’s not exactly something he _wants_ to do, but if they aren’t finished with the tablets by then, it’ll be something that he _needs_ to do.

Dean seems more than happy to simply drive Castiel around Pontiac to all his meetings. They talk about the things they see, the people on the street, and they grab lunch through a drive-thru – despite how much Castiel hates eating out for so many meals in a row. He kind of misses cooking with Dean – it was fun and was the closest thing they had to personal time outside of when they went to bed together.

He refuses to eat out again for dinner and makes something simple back in the kitchenette of the hotel room that evening. Balthazar left his laptop for them to have one too and while Dean absorbs TV culture, Castiel plots the route they’re going to take to visit what few locations are in the country before they go south to what might be a Mayan temple, if Google maps has anything to say about it.

“Are we checking out tomorrow?” Dean asks as Castiel slips under the covers later. “I mean, are you going to be all done everything or are we staying another night?”

“We can leave town tomorrow evening. We were productive today and any further arrangements I need to make about the Church being rebuilt can be done over the phone.” He explains, wiggling into place along Dean’s side while Dean is propped up on the spare pillows, watching the TV. “I just have to go talk to someone tomorrow about hauling away the wreckage of the rectory and board up the rest of it. Then we just need to stop for some supplies and we’re good to go.”

Dean slings his arm around Castiel’s shoulder. “What kind of supplies?”

“A cooler and food. I’m not eating out all the time, Dean. It’s expensive and unhealthy. We’ll need to stop for ice periodically to drain the cooler and keep the things inside cold”

He hums and slides a little further down the bed to get more comfortable. “That’s fine. I like your cooking. Just tell me where to go and when to stop and we’ll be fine.” After a moment he presses a kiss to Castiel’s forehead. “I’m kinda really looking forward to this. Just you and me on a road trip.”

Castiel smiles against his shoulder and presses a little closer, curling his fingers in the front of Dean’s pajamas. He doesn’t say it out loud, but he’s looking forward to it too. As much as he misses his brother and Sam, it’s nice to get to spend some time alone with Dean. The rectory was too small and Balthazar was too nosey to let them have a moment’s peace together. Even just sitting in silence and reading couldn’t go on for more than a few minutes without him coming to check on them.

As far as Castiel can tell, half of the times Balthazar was actually concerned that Dean would be taking advantage of him – despite the numerous reminders from both Dean and himself that they weren’t going to do anything until he’s ready. The other half of the time seemed like it was purely for kicks, just to bother them because he was bored or to rile Dean up. Castiel wishes they would get along better, but bickering seems to be how they interact best. It’s possible it’s because they’re too similar in personalities, or it might be simply because Balthazar has always been rather protective of him.

He winces remembering the time he got caught up in a credit card scam. Balthazar had used one of the hackers in the hunter network to find the person running the scam to get Castiel his money back – and divert all extra funds into various charities around the country. It was certainly a nice thing to do, but Balthazar had blown up over the phone when Castiel had told him about the weird charges on his bill. There have been more times like that and Castiel sometimes appreciates it, and sometimes he thinks Balthazar is just a little _too_ protective.

Falling asleep comes slowly while he thinks about where Balthazar and Sam are, and if they’re getting along. He listens to the steady beat of Dean’s borrowed heart, letting it and the murmur of the television lull him to sleep.

For the first time in a long time, when he wakes up it’s late morning. Castiel actually _slept in_ and it’s as surprising as it is refreshing. They check out after a quick brunch and the last thing they take from the room are the pictures from the fridge. Castiel puts them in the glove box of the Impala and Dean doesn’t mind in the slightest.

They spend most of the afternoon discussing with contractors a time table for what needs to be done. With half the rectory exposed as it is, Castiel wants it boarded up as soon as possible before it snows. Dean seems mostly bored with the entire conversation until he steals Castiel’s phone to play what few games are on it.

Afterwards, he’s practically brimming with energy. “Isn’t this great? Being _normal_ for a bit? We’re not hunting, or chasing down seals, or fighting for our lives right now. I like this. This is awesome!”

Castiel frowns at him as they get into the car. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“Surprisingly, no!” Dean gives him a grin as he revs the engine. “It was boring as hell listening to all that shop talk, but this is what people do, right? All this boring stuff? It’s day-to-day life for a lot of people and even if I’d rather be doing something else, it’s cool just to get to experience it for a bit.”

“It’s not boring for some people, Dean.”

“Compared to what I’m normally doing it’s pretty laid back. Just because it’s boring doesn’t mean I don’t like it.” He shrugs and pulls the car out into traffic. “I don’t mean it in a bad way, Cas. I mean, like – hanging out with you isn’t boring. But sitting in on a meeting that I’m not really a part of _is_ , y’know?”

“I know what you mean.” Castiel twists in his seat to put his binder full of plans on the backseat. He smiles at Dean once he’s facing forward and links their fingers when a hand is offered. “I enjoy spending time with you too.”

Dean smiles brightly again. “So if I suggest going out tonight, you’d be down for that? I saw a preview for a movie that’s in theaters right now –”

Castiel looks at the time on the dash. It’s late afternoon and if they’re going to leave Pontiac before it gets dark, the most they have time for right now is to grab dinner somewhere. He refuses to have take-out, and he had been planning on having a snack on the road and eating a late dinner at whatever motel they stop in for the night. Those are plans that can easily be rearranged. As nice as it would be to go out on a proper date with Dean, there’s the apocalypse on the horizon and Balthazar and Sam are already on task. They need to catch up too.

“We don’t have the time for dates, Dean. Not with everything that we have to do.” Castiel hates having to be the one to break it to him and Dean’s face falls immediately. He squeezes his hand reassuringly. “But, we could go to dinner. We do have to eat, after all.”

“Well, _you_ have to eat. I just like to.” Dean’s pout quickly pulls back up into a smile and he squeezes Castiel’s hand. “Do you have a place you want to go?”

“Surprise me.”

Unsurprisingly, Dean picks a place that specializes in hamburgers – though it’s very family friendly and rather loud. At least they get seated further away from the tables with the excessively loud children. A bacon cheeseburger seems to be Dean’s go-to item since he barely even needs to look at the menu before he’s chosen. Castiel is more than happy to order the same – with a side salad and the full intent to steal at least half of Dean’s fries.

They make small talk and spend a few minute texting their brothers until the food arrives. Once they’ve had a few bites and Castiel has managed to convince Dean to take half his salad in exchange for half his fries, he broaches the subject about the prophet. Specifically, he asks how they’re going to find them.

Dean shrugs and swallows a forkful of salad. “Easy enough, I guess. Every angel knows the name of every prophet who is or ever will be. All we gotta do is look him up.”

Castiel sits forward slightly at that, pausing with a fry halfway to his mouth. He won’t deny that he’s always extremely interested to hear anything about angels and their powers, or the things that they know. “What’s his name?”

“Chuck Shurley. Next in line is Kevin Tran. Next _next_ in line is –”

“I get it, Dean. Very impressive.” He sits back and stares at a spot on the wall over Dean’s shoulder. “Chuck Shurley? We’ll have to see if we can find anything about him online when we bed down tonight.”

Their first stop on the list Sam gave them is a cemetery with a crypt Charlie said is rumoured to have belonged to one of Lucifer’s lieutenants long ago. If they’re lucky, there might be a tablet inside. The locations she’s providing them are just places tablets _might_ be, but at least it’s something to go on. It occurs to him then that maybe Dean might be able to sense Chuck like he used to be able to sense him and Balthazar before the protection sigils were carved on their ribs.

He poses the question after the waitress fills their glasses again and Dean shakes his head, talking around a mouthful of burger. “No can do. Prophets are _insanely_ protected. They’re practically the only person on the planet that angels _can’t_ straight up sense.”

That means they’re going to have to find him the good old fashioned way. Fantastic.

The conversation turns away from their work and the apocalypse after that and Castiel is happy for it. Thinking about how hard it’s going to be to find the prophet, let alone the tablets, is making it difficult to enjoy his food and his time with Dean. He’s more than happy to sit back and watch Dean talk animatedly about some of his favourite movies, promising Castiel that he’ll get DVDs for him to watch on the laptop in the car while they’re driving from point A to point B.

On their way back to the Impala, another idea strikes him. “Would Charlie be able to find him? She’s in heaven and heaven is hiding him from us.”

Dean pauses in unlocking the Impala, looking at Castiel over the hood of the car. He looks thoughtful before shrugging and they both get in. “It’s worth a try. If we find fuck all online about him, then we’ll give her a shot.”

As it turns out, there is absolutely nothing on the internet about anyone named Chuck Shurley. At the very least, there’s nothing that _Castiel_ can find and he’s fairly efficient with a search engine. He did hunt down all that information about Alistair, Azazel and Lilith after all. Unless Chuck Shurley lives entirely off the grid, Castiel can’t figure out why he can’t find anything about him online. There’s not even a school article or anything.

He’s very despondent about the results of his search and if it wasn’t for Dean insisting that he get some sleep, Castiel would likely have stayed up most of the night trying to find him. Dean takes the laptop with them to bed and promises to keep searching while he sleeps.

Castiel removes the rosary Dean made for him, placing it carefully on the bedside table. “Try emailing Sam and seeing if he can search too. They’ve been out there for a few days now, maybe they’ve made some progress.”

“Doubt it. They had a lot of driving to do to get to their first marker down in Florida.” Dean shrugs and leans back against the head of the bed as Castiel slides under the covers. “But I’ll send him a text anyways. Just in case.”

“Thank you.” He lays with his back to Dean, not wanting to be bothered by the light of the laptop. “Tell them I said hello.”

Dean leans over and presses a kiss into his hair. “I will. G’night, Cas.”

In the morning Dean is no closer to finding Chuck Shurley than Castiel was. Even Sam has come up empty handed. Despite all the government databases that they’ve hacked into, there is simply no trace of the prophet. They’ve been able to find plenty on Kevin Tran – a straight A honour student with awards in both martial arts and some musical instrument that Castiel hadn’t quite been able to hear Dean say through the bathroom door while he was in the shower.

“Do you think it’s the angels?” Castiel asks as they’re leaving the parking lot. “Is Chuck so protected that they’re hiding _everything_ about him – including all the online things? Is it possible that they wiped all record of him to keep us from finding him?”

“They shouldn’t know that we’re going after the prophet.” Dean frowns at the highway, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. His rosary swings from his wrist, knocking against the wheel. “But they might just be covering their asses. Pray to Charlie – Jediael. Ask her if she can _carefully_ try and find out the location of the prophet.”

It takes Charlie a week to get back to them. She shows up between them in the middle of a copse of trees. In the case of the cemetery they were looking for, it had been moved two years ago and filled in with trees so the area could be reclaimed by a state park. It took them two days to search all the tombs that the newly built cemetery had – just in case the crypt they’re looking for had been moved too. To their dismay, it was nothing but bodies.

Castiel had been the one to suggest they try looking at the place the cemetery used to be. Which involved wading through slushy half melted snow, pushing past brambles and branches of trees too stubborn to simply let them walk by without snagging on their clothing.

When Charlie pops in between them, Castiel very nearly puts a bullet between her eyes. He lowers his gun and exhales slowly. “Don’t sneak up on people like that.”

“But that’s half the fun in being an angel.” She quirks a little smile at him and turns to find Dean with his sword in his hand. “Wow, really? How did I surprise you too? I had to ask you where you were!”

“That was two hours ago!” Dean snaps, hiding the silver sword inside his coat again. “You didn’t say _when_ you were coming. When an angel pops in unannounced around us, it’s usually a bad thing. I’ve learned to stab first and ask questions later.”

Charlie’s shoulders slouch slightly and she looks away. Castiel doesn’t know if it would be proper to mention that it’s saddening that Dean has to be so wary of his own kind now. He keeps his mouth firmly shut instead. When he was a child he had a penchant to say things at the wrong time and he’s learned since then that if he’s not sure about the timing, then he probably shouldn’t say it.

To his surprise, Dean steps forward and wraps Charlie in a tight hug. They don’t say anything, but he’s wearing a warm smile when he steps back and Charlie seems perkier – though it’s hard to tell when all Castiel has to go by is the back of her head.

“If it’s any consolation, I came with some good news.” She turns to glance back at Castiel, flashing him a wide smile too. “I was able to dig up some information on our current prophet. Stuff on him is buried deeper than the chamber of secrets.”

“What’s the –”

“It’s a Harry Potter reference, Cas.” Dean sighs, rolling his eyes. “Seriously. How have _angels_ read them, and you haven’t?”

Castiel frowns at him and crosses his arms tightly over his chest, turning away to start walking back toward where they parked the car. “There’s enough magic in my life. Why would I want to read about it when I want to escape the world for a little bit? You know the books I read.”

“But you’ve read Lord of the Rings, haven’t you?” Charlie asks, jogging to catch up to him.

“When I was younger – _before_ hunting. It’s also why I’ve never seen the movies. I prefer science fiction over fantasy.”

They’re far enough south that it’s not too cold out, but they still retreat to the Impala to sit in relative comfort while Charlie dominates the conversation, explaining everything she was able to find as quickly as she can. She doesn’t have long to be away before someone might notice she’s missing.

From what Castiel understands, his suspicions about the angels wiping all records of Chuck Shurley were correct – though it seems that they might have had some demonic help in that department. All Charlie was really able to dig up was the name Carver Edlund. She has nothing on what the name means, but it’s apparently associated to Chuck and the angels she got it from couldn’t stop laughing about it.

“But _why_ were they laughing?” Castiel asks, twisted around in the front seat to look at Charlie where she’s reclined with her knees against the back of his seat.

“They wouldn’t tell me.” She shrugs while drawing a smiley face in the fog on the window. “All they said was that it was so _supernatural_ and if I ever look him up, I should let them know what I find so I can laugh about it with them.”

He frowns and glances at Dean. There must be a reason she stressed that specific word – or why the angels used it in the first place. It doesn’t seem to fit the context and Castiel finds out why that evening.

After another fruitless day of picking their way through the forest, he and Dean are back at the motel they’ve occupied for half a week already. Dean is on the phone with Sam and Balthazar, telling them what Charlie said while Castiel stirs his spoon through the bowl of spaghettios that Dean made for him and types one handed.

One search of ‘Carver Edlund supernatural’ and Castiel is looking at a full page of links all boasting information about the underground cult book series ‘Supernatural’ written by none other than Carver Edlund. Castiel doesn’t care at all about the books, skipping any and all descriptions and synopses to see what he can find out about the author.

“Carver Edlund is a pen name.” He calls over his shoulder and Dean joins him at the table, putting the phone on speaker. “It’s possible that Chuck is one of those reclusive authors. He could be writing Supernatural under Carver Edlund.”

“At least it’s a lead.” Balthazar’s voice comes from the phone, distant and tinny on the connection. “Might as well give it a shot. Where’s the publishing house located? If we go there, we might be able to get his information out of them.”

The publishing house’s main offices end up being in Georgia. Sam and Balthazar promise to check it out as soon as they’re done with finding the tablet. It’s in a museum and they’re going in the morning when admission opens. For now, they’re a few hours ahead and they Balthazar is complaining that he barely gets enough sleep as it is because _he’s_ the one who has to drive, but _Sam’s_ the one who stays up all night clicking away on the laptop (though he said that with far more swears than Castiel would have liked).

It takes Dean and Castiel another day to finally find where the crypt had been. The stonework had been lain straight into the ground and rather than dig it all up and move it with the rest of the mausoleum, the workers had simply lain sod over the area and left it as a clearing. Castiel is the one who finds it as he walks in slow lines, routinely digging his shovel into the snow and dirt every few feet.

At the second confirming clang of metal on stone, Dean comes crashing through the trees with a nearly delirious grin on his face. “You found it!”

“I hope so.” He steadies his stance and starts to dig.

With Dean’s help, it takes very little time to clear the remaining stone slabs. At the edge of one, they dig a hole deep enough until they find the bottom. Dean crouches and digs his fingers into the dirt, gripping the bottom of the slab and lifting. It takes little effort for him to flip it up and out of the way. Castiel winces as it teeters on its end and he flinches at the thundering boom as it falls the other way.

“Ominous staircase.” Dean points out, drawing Castiel’s attention to the opening he’s revealed.

It’s still partly covered and Dean takes care of the other slab while Castiel makes a trip back to get an extra flashlight. He wants to keep another in his pockets, just in case the other dies while they’re down there or something ridiculous happens that causes him to break the one he already carries. Of course he has his phone too, but the glow from the screen is weak at best and he doesn’t have a fancy smartphone with an app. He can hear the heavy thud of the second slab being flipped over all the way from the car and he rushes back to find Dean squatting on the first step and peering into the dark.

Dean looks up when Castiel approaches and he grins again, eyebrows waggling excitedly. “Ready to go find ourselves a tablet?”

“After you.” He replies, tossing him a flash light. “Be careful. There might be booby traps.”

“How come I have to go first?”

Castiel raises his eyebrow and shines his flashlight on Dean’s feet so as not to direct it straight into his eyes. “Would you really let me go first with the possibility of booby traps ahead?” At the telling silence he receives in answer, Castiel smiles and gestures down the stairs. “I was trying to save us the debate and I have the sneaking suspicion you’ll be able to detect any traps long before you would set them off.”

“You know it’s kind of scary when you’re right this much, don’t you?”

He simply smiles and gestures at the stairs again. They get to the bottom without issues and Dean never says if it’s because he’s disabled traps or if there are none. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they cast the beams of their flashlights around the room and Castiel gives a disappointed sigh. Aside from a few extremely dusty and cobweb riddle tables against the walls, there is nothing in the crypt and there hasn’t been for a very long time.

“What are the chances that there are some hidden chambers?” Castiel asks, glancing hopefully at Dean. After days of searching, he doesn’t want to walk away empty handed.

Dean shines his light at the walls, squinting at them. For a moment, Castiel wishes he could see what Dean sees. “Just pockets of air in the dirt. Nothing big enough to hold a tablet.”

They return to the motel defeated and unhappy. Neither of them had felt like covering up the hole again and there isn’t anything down there to hurt anyone. If the locals don’t like it, they can cover it up themselves. Castiel takes his second shower of the day, standing under the spray with his forehead against the wall as he mentally marks this location off the list and thinks ahead to the next – a private collector in Olympia, Washington.

Together they go shopping for food they can store in the car without needing to keep it cold. There are several cans of soup, a few loaves of bread, and boxes of cereal. Castiel buys a little meat at Dean’s insistence to keep in the cooler they have in the backseat. They play to lay bottles of water and drinks over top of the bag of ice they lay between the bacon, packages of chicken and beef, eggs, and a quart of milk.

Before they leave in the morning the next day, after a few bowls of cereal, Castiel uses up all the sandwich meat and one loaf of bread to make a bunch of sandwiches to eat during the drive. Dean disappears during that time, and the Impala with him, to return with several DVDs that he cheerfully tells Castiel he’ll get to watch during the drive. Castiel doesn’t touch them at all the first day or their drive, choosing instead to read one of Stephen King’s latest books.

The only time he stops reading, aside from making conversation with Dean, is to answer his phone when Balthazar calls in the evening while they’re looking for a motel to stop at. He barely even gets to say hello before he’s rather rudely, though excitedly, interrupted.

“We got a tablet!”

Castiel sucks in a sharp breath and reaches out to turn Dean’s music off completely. He puts the phone on speaker so Dean can participate too. “You’ve had more luck than us. Ours was a dead end. How did you get it?”

“Stole it, obviously.” Balthazar scoffs. “Sam popped in after hours, took it out of the case without setting off the alarms, and popped right back out. He’s rather handy. I wonder what else we could –”

“Don’t abuse my brother so you can play King of Thieves.” Dean snaps, glancing down at the phone. “Just get the hell out of there before someone figures out who the guys on the security cameras are.”

Another voice, Sam’s, joins in the background of Balthazar’s phone. “I disabled the cameras while I was in there. Nobody and nothing saw who took it. I’m going to email you a photo of the tablet, just in case you end up getting to the prophet. If Chuck can’t translate it from a photo, I can bring it to you guys.”

“We’re leaving bright and early tomorrow to drive up to Georgia and see if we can’t convince someone to give us Carver Edlund’s real name and address.” Balthazar adds. “If they won’t give it over, should I call up Frank and get him to hack their systems?”

“I could always go in again after hours and borrow one of their computers.” Sam offers. “It wouldn’t be a problem.”

Castiel shares a quick glance with Dean. Should Sam continue using his powers like that? Dean only used his for opening the crypt. The lack of a need to eat and sleep isn’t something that he can control. They’re just as automatic as the mojo that keeps his clothes clean and makes it unnecessary for him to shower and shave.

“Try Frank first. If he can’t get into their databases because they’re closed or something, then you go in.” He answers and Dean nods in agreement, eyes back on the road.

It’s unanimous and Castiel ends the call soon after that. He doesn’t hear for them again until early the next afternoon as they’re reaching Olympia and it’s only a text message with an address in Oregon. Apparently Carver Edlund’s books are published by a subsidiary of the Georgia office. Sam points out everything thanks to the help of Frank – the hunter network’s best computer expert and a bit of a head case (according to Balthazar). He also confirms that Carver Edlund is, in fact, Chuck Shurley.

The demons and angels may have wiped the internet clean of any record of him, but private databases that Castiel never would have thought of hacking still have his name. Castiel wonders how that words if, for whatever reason, he needs to check into a hospital or he gets pulled over for a speeding ticket. If he’s not in police or health registries, wouldn’t that pose some sort of problem? Although, he wouldn’t doubt it if heaven made sure nothing like that happened.

For Dean and Castiel, the second tablet is just as much a failure as the first. They posed as scholars merely interested in _looking_ at it and the collector was more than happy to admit them into his home. It probably helped matters that Castiel demonstrated his ability to speak multiple languages and Dean can speak _all_ languages. They had to go at length into an elaborate lie about the studies they’re doing on ancient texts, which wasn’t _that_ far off but it certainly wasn’t the whole truth.

Dean knew it wasn’t the correct tablet the moment he looked at it. To carry on their charade, for a few minutes he and Castiel leaned over the case and pretended to make notes in a journal. The collector was even kind enough to provide them with photos for future reference when they left.

Only once they were back in the car does Dean say anything. “It’s not one of the ones we’re looking for.” He sighs, ruffling his hands through his hair. “I could read it. If it was the word of God, I wouldn’t have been able to.”

Castiel looks at the photos in his hands. “What language is it?”

“A dead one.” Dean grunts, putting the Impala into drive and steering her back out on to the road. “Guess we’re headed to Chuck’s now?”

“There’s little point in hanging around here anymore. We need to find out if the tablet we do have is either of the ones that we need.” Castiel points out, twists around to kneel in his seat to add all the pages in his hands to one of the folders he keeps in the back seat. He grabs the laptop and bottle of water before he sits down properly again. “If we go straight to Chuck’s, we should reach his town by this evening. We’ll grab a motel for the night and visit him bright and early tomorrow morning.”

He isn’t expected the small huff of laughter and the fond smile Dean directs at him while he’s booting up the laptop. Castiel glances up at him and tilts his head, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“You really plan everything out, don’t you?”

“I like to be prepared and to know what I’m doing.” Castiel sniffs, slouching down in his seat to rest his knees on the dash and balanced the laptop on that.

“It’s cute.” Dean laughs again and Castiel gives him an exasperated look. This isn’t the first time Dean has called him cute and he highly doubt it’s going to be the last – no matter how many times he tries to explain that he’s not.

Dean leans over slightly to glance at the screen while they’re at a red light. “What are you doing with that?”

“I told you. I like to be prepared.” Castiel drags his fingertip across the touchpad, tapping it twice to open the browser. He’s pleased to find the wifi is working just fine even with Dean actively trying to keep his mojo down. “I’m going to see if I can find any of Carver Edlund’s Supernatural books online while we drive. It might be useful to at least know _something_ about the stuff he’s written before we try talking our way into his house and attempt to convince him that we aren’t crazy and that at some point in the near future we’re going to need his help to read stone tablets that we can’t.”

For a moment, Dean drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Technically, he’s supposed to already know all about the apocalypse and everything going on. The prophets are awakened and given visions so they can record the true history untainted by the opinions of mankind.” He glances at Castiel, almost as if he’s making sure that he’s listening. “The gospels prophets like Luke wrote are the true history – events that actually happened. I was there for a lot of it.”

“I’d like to hear more about the things you’ve done.” Castiel murmurs, his attention mostly on Dean while he clicks through websites. He glances up at him with a small smile, knowing that Dean hasn’t been all that forward with telling him about himself in the past. “When we have the chance, will you tell me?”

Dean shrugs and ducks his head, pretending to shoulder check even though he doesn’t change lanes. “Sure, I guess. I mean, if you actually want to listen to that crap.”

“I look forward to it.”

A comfortable silence falls between them for a few minutes before Dean turns on his music, keeping it low enough that it doesn’t disturb Castiel when he finally finds a digital copy of the first book to read. He’s not exactly sure when, but at some point their hands end up on the seat between them, fingers loosely intertwined. Castiel makes no comment on it, but he rather likes that Dean can be very tactile with him. But only when it’s appropriate, of course.

Now that they’re alone together, he had thought that Dean would be more affectionate. He assumed that without Balthazar around, Dean would be more free with his hugs and his kisses. As far as Castiel has noticed, there hasn’t been much of a change in Dean’s actions. It’s _him_ who’s changed. More often than not, Castiel is the one who reaches for Dean’s hand in the car, and he’ll be the one to make the move to curl against him at night. He doesn’t always initiate the kisses or the hugs, but the percentage of what he does has been steadily climbing since they separated from their brothers.

Thinking about that only makes Castiel realize that he hasn’t actually set aside any time to think about the other half of his relationship with Dean. Now certainly isn’t the time for it. Not with a document full of pages of the first book of Supernatural to read and half a day’s drive to read it. He puts those thoughts out of his head for now and he’ll return to them when he has a chance.

Rather than completely read the book, Castiel skims it just to get an idea of what happens and who the characters are. He’s barely a few pages in before he stops and looks at Dean, critically analyzing the colour of his eyes, hair and the freckles on his skin.

“What?” Dean glances at him. “What is it?”

“This book…” Castiel looks back at the screen and re-reads the description of one of the main characters. “It’s main characters are – This can’t possibly be right. It’s too much to just be merely a coincidence.”

“What is it?” He keeps glancing away from the road and Castiel gestures for him to keep his eyes forward. “Cas, what is it?”

No matter how many times Castiel re-reads the scene, it’s too uncanny to be real. He skims several more pages just for more information. “The main characters are – They’re brothers named Sam and Dean.” Dean looks at him sharply, his hissed question covered as Castiel continues. “Their parents are Mary and John, and Mary died in a house fire when Dean was four. Chuck just described Dean at twenty-six and he – Dean, it’s your vessel. It’s _you_.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, but his grip on the steering wheel goes white-knuckled. Castiel continues skimming, passing through a few chapters in the next hour. “They’re hunters. John was convinced a demon killed their mother and now they’re hunting monsters while trying to find the demon that did it.” He tilts his head back against the seat, staring out the window at the clouds in the winter sky. “This is very weird, Dean.”

He grunts in agreement and lets Castiel read for another few minutes before he interrupts. “What about you? Are you one of his characters too?”

After a quick search, he comes back with nothing. Castiel turns from reading the book properly to reading synopses of the entire storyline that spans the series. He reads it out loud for Dean to hear about the hunt for the yellow-eyed demon who started the fire in Sam’s nursery and how Sam is infected with demon blood.

“Do you think that’s what he’s doing with his puppets?” Castiel stops, looking up at Dean. “Ava and Ruby – are they infected with demon blood?”

“I didn’t look for anything like that when we saw Ava and the others. They were tainted, yeah, but that’s what happens when you spend too much time in the company of demons.” Dean shrugs and he’s glaring at the road, knee bouncing agitatedly under the steering wheel. “We should’ve checked.”

Castiel decides not to tell Dean about how the Dean in the books sold his soul to bring Sam back to life. Or that he goes to hell after a year of saying goodbye with Sam. The series was discontinued after that since it wasn’t selling enough for the company to keep publishing it. He closes the laptop and stares at the window, thinking about everything he just read.

Why would Chuck write books about an alternate version of Dean and Sam? There is little doubt in Castiel’s mind that the characters in the book _are_ the angels he knows and loves. Everything he read is far too similar to them – speech, actions, and attitudes. It _was_ them.

“I don’t know about you, Cas, but I kind of don’t want to wait until tomorrow to talk to this guy.” Dean says quietly a few hours later when Castiel gets a few sandwiches out of the cooler. “He’s supposed to be writing the gospels of the apocalypse, not something about a Dean and Sam that don’t exist. Something ain’t kosher and I don’t like it.”

It doesn’t take much to convince him either. Castiel is unsettled by what he read and he’s more than happy to use the map book from the glove box to direct Dean straight to Chuck’s street the moment they hit the town. The only time they stop is at a gas station to take turns using the bathroom to change into suits they keep carefully laid out in the trunk. When they reach Chuck’s, Castiel takes a moment to grab his FBI badge from a box under the back seat, tossing one to Dean too as he slams the door.

“What’s this?”

“A badge. They’re going to be our best bet at getting him to let us in.”

Dean flips it open and raises an eyebrow at it. “Where the hell did you get this?”

“I made it the other night while you were discovering the joys of hot water and bathtubs.” Castiel explains as he brushes past him, heading up the sidewalk to the porch. “Why else do you think I insisted on taking those pictures of you and Sam in your suits a few weeks ago?”

“Because suits make everyone look hotter?”

He only partly agrees. Certainly Dean looks very nice in a suit, but he doesn’t look comfortable in it. Dean looks better when he can relax and be himself in clothing that doesn’t look like it’s suffocating him. That’s how Castiel prefers to see him. Even though he did look _really_ nice in that suit. He shakes his head and reaches out to ring the doorbell.

It takes three rings for Chuck Shurley to answer the door and despite his lack of expectations, Castiel is still a little surprised by the short man who peers around the door’s edge. His eyes are hooded and bloodshot, his hair a mess, face unshaven and skin ashen. He’s wearing nothing more than a thin t-shirt, his boxer shorts, and a raggedy housecoat. Chuck Shurley is the picture of an unemployed drunk and Castiel is altogether taken aback by him.

 _This_ is the prophet? Dean doesn’t seem at all surprised when Castiel looks to him in confusion. He even shrugs and Castiel has no idea what the gesture is supposed entail. It could be any number of things and, where Dean is concerned, it could potentially be even _more_.

“Can I – can I help you?” Chuck asks, looking nervously between the two of them.

Castiel gets the impression that he is a very skittish man. He takes his FBI badge out from the inside pocket of his coat holds it out for inspection. It’s never entirely easy for him to slip into the role he needs to play for this, but now is as good a time as any. “Mr. Shurley, my name is Special Agent Weary and this is my partner Agent Derby. We’re in the process of investigating an incident involving your publishing house and we’d like to have a few words with you regarding it.”

If anything, that doubles Chuck’s nervousness and he squints at them, glancing between their badges. “I don’t have any publishing house. They let me go months ago when my books weren’t selling enough.”

“Yeah, we know.” Dean shrugs, stuffing his ID into his pocket. “Where do you with think we got your contact information, Mr. _Edlund_.”

“May we come in? We only have a few questions and we’ll be out of your hair shortly.” Castiel carefully tucks his own ID away, gracing Chuck with his most endearing smile. It’s one he uses often in Church.

Chuck shifts on his feet and glances back into the house. It’s mostly dark inside and Castiel can only see one light on in the front room. The air smells musty and there’s the sour stench of something rotten inside – garbage that hasn’t been taken out in a long time.

“I, um, I’d rather you didn’t. Maybe you could – you should come back tomorrow. There’s too – it’s a big mess. I should clean up first.” Chuck starts shutting the door and Castiel closes his eyes in resignation when he hears Dean’s annoyed huff.

“To hell with this.” Dean grunts, shoving the door open easily and sending Chuck staggering back into the stairs. “Why the hell are you writing about me and Sam as hunters? We’re _angels_ , you dumbass. You’re supposed to be keeping the true history and you’re writing that bullshit?”

“ _Dean_.” Castiel hisses, slipping into the house after him and glancing out the door to make sure no one saw them before he shuts it. “You can’t just get straight to the point like that.”

Chuck makes a startled squeak of a noise and he ducks away into the front room when Dean advances on him. “Please, wait!” He trips over a pile of empty pizza boxes, tumbling into a heap on the couch and jostling a coffee table full of open books, half-eaten boxes of take-out and empty bottles of booze. “Don’t hurt me!”

“We’re not here to hurt you.” Castiel assures him, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder to keep him in place. “We just have a lot of questions and very little time to waste asking them.” He squeezes Dean’s shoulder in warning. “What happened to the infinite patience of angels?”

He shrugs and gives Castiel a helpless look. “Sorry, Cas. Guess that went out the window once _Falling_ came into the picture.” Dean glances back at Chuck and winces slightly. “Sorry, dude. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Cas.” Chuck breathes, eyes wide and glassy. “You called him ‘Cas’ and he called you ‘Dean’. That’s – no, that’s impossible.”

“It’s short for ‘Castiel’. Why is it impossible?” Castiel asks, carefully perching on the armrest of the couch. “Do you know why we’re here and what you are?”

With shaking hands, Chuck reaches for one of the almost empty bottles of whiskey on the table. Dean reaches out and stops him. “I think you’ve had enough of that. Time to sober up, buddy. We need you bright eyed and bushy tailed for this.” He taps Chuck in the middle of his forehead and in an instant, the bleary wetness to his eyes is gone and he looks far more cognizant than Castiel has seen him yet.

To his credit, Chuck doesn’t freak out right away. He stares up at Dean and looks him over from head to toe. He does the same to Castiel, eyes lingering on the trench coat. “Where did you get that coat?”

“Dean gave it to me for Christmas.”

“And if you’re wondering, Cas gave me the Impala. She’s parked outside and she’s a beauty.” Dean jerks a thumb at the front window and Chuck turns around to peer over the back of the couch. He looks positively astounded and Castiel suspects there’s more connections being made in his head than he’s letting on.

“But that’s really not why we’re here.” Dean continues. “Let’s start with the Supernatural books before we get into the heavy stuff. Why are you writing about Sam and me like that?”

Chuck groans and buries his face in his hands, fingers massaging at his temples. “I don’t know – why does anyone write anything?”

Castiel places a gentle hand on his shoulder, holding firmly when Chuck tries to jerk away. “Start from the beginning. When did you get the idea?”

For a few moments, he says nothing, staring at the both of them like he’s hoping that they’re just going to go away. After a minute, he slumps back on the couch and slides down until his legs bump the table again. “You’re really not hallucinations are you?” He looks pointedly at Dean. “You really did just make me sober with a touch?”

“Wow, nothing gets past you.” Dean rolls his eyes and leans his hip against a bookcase by the wall. “Just answer Cas’s questions and things’ll be over before you know it.”

It’s a lie and they both know it. There’s no way they’re going to be leaving after the first questions are answered. And they’ll be coming back again once they have the tablets. He should have brought the laptop in with them to show Chuck the picture Sam emailed him. It would at least have been further proof for their cause. They can get that later – _after_ Chuck has finished explaining.

Chuck launches into a quick explanation about how the Supernatural stories started coming to him a while ago. At first they were just headaches that no painkiller could help and when Chuck would drink himself to unconsciousness, the dreams would come. Flashes of images in his head detailing almost everything. And when he woke up, the images were still there. They would flow in circles in his brain and the only thing that would get them out was to write them down. He started spending hours a day writing everything that came to him at night and within a month he had his first book. Of course he decided to publish them, because that just seemed like the logical thing to do.

“It doesn’t make sense.” Dean mutters, turning away to lean his back against the bookcase instead. He rubs a hand over his mouth and stares at the opposite wall while he thinks. “That sounds like the visions you’re supposed to get, but they’re the wrong ones. Why aren’t you getting what’s _actually_ happening.”

The way Chuck stares at Dean now sets warning flares off in the back of Castiel’s mind. He leans forward until he has Chuck’s attention. “What aren’t you telling us?”

“Castiel Collins?” He says unexpectedly and Castiel pulls back, blinking in stunned surprise at him. “Is that – It’s not, right? It can’t be.”

“That’s my name.” Castiel says slowly, glancing at Dean and hoping he can offer some insight. “How do you know that? What else do you know – what else have you been seeing?”

Chuck licks his lips and gets up slowly from the couch. He shuffles across the room to the kitchen and a computer set up on a cluttered table. “I kept writing after the publishers shut me out. I’ve got binders and binders full of manuscripts for more Supernatural books. But a few months ago, I started – it’s a pain in the ass, but I started another book.”

He pulls a thick binder out of the piles on the table and brings it back to them. Castiel takes it and stands up so Dean can look at it with him. Chuck continues talking while they flip through the pages. “It’s weird, man. The latest pages are very – they’re weird. Very Vonnegut?”

“‘Slaughterhouse-Five’ Vonnegut or ‘Cat’s Cradle’ Vonnegut?” Dean asks without looking up from the binder. He has the same confused frown as Castiel does.

“More like ‘Kilgore Trout’ Vonnegut.” Chuck mutters, dropping back down onto the couch. This time, when he reaches for the whiskey, neither of them stop him. “I wrote myself into it. I wrote myself, at my house, being confronted by my characters. Dean – the Falling angel who’s lost his faith in God, and Castiel Collins – a Father of the Church struggling with his own faith and the new feelings his partner is waking in him.”

Castiel carefully avoids letting any reaction to Chuck’s words show and he doesn’t look at Dean for his. He speaks much like the style he writes in – which is not all that good. It was hard enough skimming through Supernatural, let alone reading through this binder and the events of the last several months in an attempt at eloquent that completely misses the target.

When the pages in the binder start describing Castiel’s thoughts after Dean first kissed him when he touched his soul, he shuts the binder with a snap. Dean promised never to look in his head, which means he doesn’t need to read any further for them to know that Chuck’s new ‘book’ are the true prophecies he’s supposed to be writing.

If Chuck already knew they were coming, then it’s entirely likely that the last pages of this binder contain information about events that haven’t passed yet and he’s not so sure about whether or not they should be looking at them. He’ll let Dean make that decision – as long as they’re not more pages containing his thoughts in great detail. Castiel is already finding it hard to deal with knowing that Chuck has seen every moment he’s had with Dean, Balthazar, and Sam. Chuck has seen the private moments been Dean and it’s very possible that Chuck knows the thoughts that go through Castiel’s mind during the cold showers he takes more frequently with every passing morning.

“Think on the bright side, Cas.” Dean grins at him and Castiel can only imagine the sour look he must have. He takes the binder and shoves it haphazardly onto the bookshelf. “If Chucky here is still getting the right visions, it means he’s our prophet _and_ he probably already knows why we’re here.”

“I don’t believe it.” Chuck grumbles, a hand thrown dramatically over his eyes as he leans back on the couch. “This isn’t possible for my characters to come to life like this.” He sits forward suddenly, looking at them with wide eyes. “No, wait. It makes perfect sense. I’m a god. Everything I write comes to life.”

Dean gives Castiel another flat look before he drops onto the couch next to Chuck. “No, you’re not. You’re a prophet. I’d explain it to you, but if you’re getting the right prophecies anyways, then you already know anything I could tell you. Trust me, you’re not a god.”

“Are you sure? I mean - it’s - I could be a god, maybe?” He looks hopefully at Dean’s flat look and promptly deflates, slouching forward and scanning the bottles on the table for any that aren’t empty. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to be writing two entirely different stories at the same time? I’m going out of my mind and I’m going to get carpal tunnel soon if this keeps up.” He gets up and shuffles into the kitchen where Castiel can hear the clinking of bottles. “Any time I fall asleep, I get visions for the Supernatural stories and then the next time I get ones of you guys. Angels are too hard on their prophets. We’re only human, y’know?”

“This isn’t supposed to be happening.” Dean points out, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees. “You should only be getting the true prophecies, not this bullshit about me and Sam being hunters and nothing about Cas.”

Chuck laughs dryly and gestures at the piles of binders on the kitchen table. “Oh, there’s plenty about Castiel, angel of the Lord who saved the Righteous Man – Dean Winchester – from the depths of hell after he broke the first seal on Lucifer’s cage.”

“Wait, what?”

Castiel steps forward, grabbing Dean’s arm to stop him from crossing the room. “It’s not important Dean. Those are just stories. We don’t even need to know why he’s getting false visions _and_ true visions.  As interesting as it all is, we need to focus on the tablets.”

“It’s probably Zachariah.” Dean grunts, glancing back to Chuck as he drops into the chair in front of the computer. He’s already pouring himself a generous amount of whiskey in what looks to be an old Starbucks cup. “It makes the most sense. They don’t want anyone to know what they’re up to and prophets always write down their visions as records. In this day and age, it’s not a huge leap to assume that you’d try and get them published somehow.”

He looks at Castiel and gestures to the line of Supernatural books on a shelf. “If any one of us had come across a series about what’s happening, it would’ve lead us straight back to Chuck and heaven probably doesn’t want us anywhere near him. Not with all the wrenches we keep throwing in their plans.”

It’s somewhat settling to have at least sort of figured that out, but Castiel still feels antsy. If the angels went to the trouble of providing fakes, they must think that Chuck isn’t getting the true visions. Which means he’s not supposed to be receiving them at all and that leaves the question of just _who_ is putting those images into his head. Of course, this isn’t even touching on how Castiel has always been a private person and it’s like a thorn in the back of his mind to know that Chuck could very well know and see everything that he does or will do. Castiel doesn’t like it. And there’s the nagging pressure of the tablets weighing on his shoulders too.

“I’m going to go get the laptop.” The sooner they have Chuck translate the tablet, the sooner they can get back to looking for more.

Chuck makes a small noise and he shrinks back in his chair when Dean and Castiel turn to look at him. He licks his lips nervously and practically inhales the contents of his cup before filling it again.

“Something you’d like to share, Chuckles?” Dean asks and Castiel squeezes his arm. Making fun of or insulting the prophet is not exactly the best means of convincing him to help them.

“It’s nothing. I mean - you don’t really need to waste time getting the laptop.” Chuck mumbles and gestures at the computer screen. “I was in the middle of writing this scene when you guys showed up. I already know that I’m not going to be able to read anything from a picture.”

Dean swears under his breath and pulls his phone out. “Then I’ll get Sam to bring it over right now. We’ll find out if it’s legit and then get our asses back on the road to go find the next one.”

“Will you help us?” Castiel asks, posing the question Dean seems to have completely forgotten. “It could get you in trouble with heaven if they find out.”

Chuck swallows hard and downs another cup of whiskey. It takes two more cups before he looks up at them again, eyes wet but hard. “If it wasn’t for those assholes, I wouldn’t be swamped with twice as many visions as I’m supposed to have.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?” Dean asks.

“I don’t want to get caught in anything more than I already am.” Chuck mumbles, slouching and turning around to face the computer. “You said I’d get in trouble if I helped you and I don’t like trouble.”

Castiel picks his way quickly and carefully through the mess of take-out containers and long forgotten books. He turns Chuck’s chair around sharply and quickly pries the bottle from his hand. “You’re going to be in far worse trouble if the apocalypse comes down around your ears.” He says lowly, putting the bottle down forcefully to punctuate his point. “You can either sit here, hiding behind your computer and your alcohol. Or you can help us save the world. Who would you rather be - the hero, or the coward?”

“It’s not like we’re really going to give you much choice.” Dean says from his place on the couch, having sat down to text with Sam. “They’re going to be here in a minute with the tablet.”

Chuck groans and hides his face in his hands. He waits for Castiel to step away and answer the knock at the door before he grabs the whiskey again and starts drinking straight from the bottle. Sam and Balthazar are standing on the doorstep. It’s surprisingly nice to see them again and he barely stops from laughing at how Balthazar wrinkles his nose when they follow him to the living room.

Sam and Dean share a brief hug and Castiel briefly wonders if they’ve ever been apart for this long before. He hangs back with Balthazar as Dean quickly clears a place on the coffee table for the small duffle bag that Sam is carrying. With the utmost care, Sam puts the bag down and unzips the cover, revealing the contents to be stuffed full of towels.

“We didn’t want to risk breaking it in transport.” Balthazar murmurs gently at his shoulder.

At first he’s not sure why Balthazar is talking so quietly, but he understands the moment Sam peels back the towels to reveal the tablet. The air changes. It feels thick with the tang of a storm, like when Dean and Sam are gathering their grace. Castiel can taste it in the stale air and it chases shivers down his spine. Chuck seems doubly affected. His hands start shaking before he’s even gotten up from his chair to approach it.

He staggers across the living room slowly, not even acknowledging Sam or Balthazar. His eyes are locked on the stone tablet and his breathing is uneven – coming in short, quick bursts. Castiel gives Dean a worried glance, but Dean is completely focused on Chuck as he reaches for the tablet. The moment his fingers touch the stone, the carved markings glow and the air grows thick enough that Castiel feels like he’s choking on it. Even Balthazar takes a step away, his hand fisted in the sleeve of Castiel’s coat.

A tingle of warning raises the hairs on his skin and he holds himself perfectly still, watching with rapt attention as Chuck drops to his knees. The glow of the lettering, ancient and nothing but symbols to Castiel’s eyes, lights his face. Chuck’s eyes are wide, nearly popping out of his head and his jaw hangs loose as he stares down at the tablet.

It’s over in moments, ending with a violent shudder from Chuck as he sways on the spot to sit heavily on his feet. He nearly drops the tablet, but Sam crouches and takes it from him gently. Dean bends down and pulls Chuck to his feet, carefully guiding him to the couch where he falls over on his side. Chuck is unconscious before he even manages to get his legs up onto the cushions and Dean has to do it for him.

The thick feeling to the air is gone now and Balthazar is relaxed enough to take a few steps forward. “He’s not looking so good. Is he alright?”

“Honestly?” Dean glances at them and then at Sam as he puts the tablet back in the bag. “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure he’s the first prophet to ever read the word of God. All the others only recorded history. Technically speaking, this is a part of his duties as a prophet, so he _should_ be okay.”

Castiel takes Dean’s place in front of the couch to kneel and press his hand to Chuck’s forehead. It’s clammy, but normal. With a few short words, he directs Balthazar to get him a wet cloth from the kitchen. They need to get him conscious again so they can find out if this tablet is any use to them.

“What are we going to do with it?” Castiel asks, accepting the wet and moderately clean cloth that Balthazar brings to him. “If it’s not one of the ones that we need. Are you going to put it back in the museum?”

 “No way.” Sam shakes his head and zips the bag up again. “It doesn’t even matter what’s on the tablet. We can’t risk it falling into the hands of someone else. Best bet is we find a safe place where we can store it that no creature is going to be able to get their hands on it.”

Dean perches on the armrest of the couch, watching Castiel methodically dab at Chuck’s forehead and cheeks. “What about our storage locker? With your help, we could whip up a chest with angel and demon warding on it. The locker is already protected against pretty much everything and if we find a chest big enough, it could hold a bunch of tablets. Nothing would be able to sense them in there.”

“We’ll work on that after.” Castiel murmurs softly. It looks like Chuck is starting to come around again. “For all we know, Chuck didn’t even read anything on that tablet. If he needs to look at it more, there’s no point in taking it away for storage. Unless you make the chest and we store it here.”

Balthazar looks around the room, his nose wrinkling in disgust again. “I really don’t want to have to keep coming back here.”

“Tough shit. He’s the _prophet_. We kinda need him.” Dean crosses his arms and stares down at Chuck. “And that means we don’t have time for this. Wake him up, Cas, or I will.”

“M’wake…” Chuck mumbles, groaning and lifting a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Did anyone get the license plate of that semi?”

Castiel helps him sit up again, taking the empty space on the couch himself to make sure he doesn’t fall over again. He doesn’t bother asking Chuck how he feels since it’s rather obvious just from looking at him. The groaning and whining is another good indicator. Balthazar makes another foray into the kitchen to find a clean glass for some water and Chuck practically chugs it.

“That wasn’t fun.” He sighs, leaning back heavily into the couch. “I don’t want to do that again. Please don’t make me do that again.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to. Many more times until we find the ones we need.” Castiel takes the glass and gestures for someone to go fill it again. This time Sam does it. “Did you manage to read anything off of this one? Did you learn anything at all from it?”

Chuck looks at him with wide, sad eyes. “I don’t – I’m sorry, I don’t know. It was like a sucker punch to the brain and I can still see the letters when I close my eyes.” He shakes his head and looks down at his hands until Sam puts the glass in them. “I think I remember something about alphas, but nothing about heaven or hell is ringing any bells.”

“Fuck.” Dean hisses, jumping to his feet and starting to pace the room. “If it’s got information about alphas on it, then it’s probably not one of the ones we’re looking for.”

“I hate to interrupt, really I do, but what in the bloodiest of hells is an _alpha_?” Balthazar asks.

“They’re the originals – the source of each line of monsters.” Sam explains with a shrug.

Castiel faintly remembers reading something about that in one of his books, but it’s never come up before. He touches Chuck’s shoulder, surprised when he nearly falls over again from such a small weight. “We need you to translate the whole tablet. Everything contained on them is something that would benefit the hunter community. If we leave the tablets with you, would you be able to do that? We’ll make sure that they’re protected.”

“Will _I_ be protected?” Chuck asks weakly, looking up at Castiel with a pitiful expression. “You said the angels are going to be mad at me if they find out I’m helping you. What if they come here and I have the tablet? What are they going to do to me?”

“Nothing.” Sam says quickly, but firmly. “You’re a prophet under divine protection. Anything in this world that tries to hurt you would be crushed by an archangel before it could lift a finger.”

“Dean and Sam can make you something to keep the tablets in so angels won’t be able to sense it. If you keep the tablets in there and only take them out to translate them, you should be perfectly safe.” He pats Chuck’s shoulder again and stands. “It’s just a matter of taking precautions.”

“Cas is the king of precautions.” Dean says cheerfully, clapping Castiel on the back. “He and Balthazar can ward your house against angels to keep them out if you want while Sam and I make you something to store everything in.”

Chuck looks between them all, pleading with his eyes. “I don’t – I’m not going to have much say in any of this, am I?”

“You do, sort of.” Balthazar says, stepping over a pile of discarded food cartons and plucking a marker from a table. “We’re not sticking around to babysit you. We’ll be around long enough for you to tell us if the tablet is one of the ones we need or not. After that, we hit the road for the next one until we’ve found what we need. If you don’t want to translate anything while we’re gone, you don’t have to. At least not until all of this is over.”

“Over how?” His voice shakes when he asks the question.

“Oh, you know. Either the apocalypse makes this all completely moot, or we win and you won’t even have to deal with the visions anymore.” He shrugs and steps up to a bookcase. “Cassie come help me move this. We’ll draw the symbols behind it so none of his guests get suspicious.”

Sam and Dean disappear with the promise to return shortly while Castiel leaves his coat over the back of the couch and helps Balthazar ward the house. They put the symbols everywhere they can hide them, tucked against the inside edge of the front and back doors toward the base and behind bookcases or wardrobes in every room. By the time they’re done, Castiel is down to his shirt sleeves and Balthazar’s leather jacket is tossed across the couch too.

Chuck has relocated to the computer chair again and traded his water for whiskey by then. Sam and Dean are back and in the living room with a large trunk that looks more like it belongs in a war museum than it does a failed author’s front room. They’re carefully carving runes along the edges of the chest in swirling patterns that reminds Castiel of the little box the amulet has since been returned to, sitting tucked away at the bottom of a crate in the storage locker back in Pontiac.

With nothing else to do but wait for them to finish, Castiel glances around at the mess on the floor and the tables. If this was his home, he wouldn’t hesitate to clean them. But it isn’t. This is _Chuck’s_ home and it would be entirely too rude of him to simply start cleaning it because he’s bored. It’s not like cleaning this mess will make any difference. He’s not going to be around to make sure it stays clean. No, Castiel is going to be going back to the motel tonight.

Not knowing when he’s going to be able to go back to _his_ home itches under his skin. Tonight he’ll sleep in a motel and tomorrow he’ll be driving in Dean’s car. There’s no telling when he’s finally going to be able to go home - and that’s only if they actually manage to stop the apocalypse. If they fail and he somehow survives, there won’t be a home to return to _anywhere_.

In that moment, he desperately misses the rectory. The sick, suffocating twist of homesickness that rises in his chest nearly keeps him from helping Balthazar move the trunk to the basement when Dean and Sam are done with the carvings. The basement is the only place that Chuck is even remotely willing to keep it.

Castiel takes all those nervous, sick feelings clogging his chest and he buries them and all the thoughts that go with them. There’s a job to do and he can’t afford to be distracted by them. If they continue to bother him, he can just keep on trying to convince himself that driving around with Dean is like a little vacation. He can keep fooling himself into believing that one day soon he’ll be able to go home again.

Their goodbyes to Chuck are quick – more for his sake than anyone else’s. Castiel leaves all their contact information (with aliases) on the fridge door, tacked between well-worn take-out menus. Chuck is quickly descending into another drunken stupor, typing away at his computer with an eerie accuracy and he barely acknowledges Castiel when he points it out to him.

There’s little point in them staying around when they already know the tablet they have isn’t one they can use – yet. Castiel hopes that Chuck will take the time to translate it. Maybe there’s more than just information about alphas on it – whatever it is, the word of God is something they shouldn’t disregard just because it’s not the specific one that they’re looking for.

Sam and Balthazar follow them to the car and they part there after a few lingering conversations. Castiel feels exhausted once they get on the road again and all he wants to do now is take a long, hot shower and go to bed. He doesn’t even feel hungry enough to want a late supper. As they drive around, looking for a motel, Castiel stares out the window. A million thoughts are flying through his head and only one of them is sticking – one that he’s not sure he should bring up.

“What’s on your mind, Cas?” Dean asks softly when they pull up to a red light. There’s a sign for a motel a few blocks down and Castiel can almost feel the hot water now.

He could lie to Dean and tell him that there’s nothing, but he doesn’t like lying to him. If only he wasn’t almost positive that the idea weighing on his mind is one that carries a heavy chance of starting a fight. It’s a sensitive topic for Dean – for them both – and he doesn’t particularly want to broach it. It’s not even one that _needs_ to be said.

“Cas?” Dean glances at him, an edge of worry taking to his voice. “You okay?”

“I think God is giving Chuck the correct prophecies.” Castiel says it with surprising calm. He feels anything but that right now. “And I think He was the one behind the fire at the Church.”

Dean is silent until they hit the next red light the next block down and Castiel silently curses poor timing between the intersections. “God told us to fuck off. Why would He be doing _anything_ for us?”

“I don’t know.” And he doesn’t. It doesn’t make sense for God to help them when He’s already said that He wouldn’t. “But it’s the only thing that makes sense. Think about it, Dean.” Castiel sits up a little more in his seat, turning to look at him. “If it wasn’t for that fire, we wouldn’t be here now. I wouldn’t have been able to leave without a good excuse. The fire gave me the _best_ and most entirely plausible excuse possible. And aside from the angels in heaven, who else would have the power to put prophecies into a prophet’s head?”

The steering wheel creaks under Dean’s hands as he grips it hard. “No one, Cas. _No one_ without the power of heaven behind them can do anything like that to a prophet.”

“Then we already know it’s not likely anyone in control up there right now if they’re the ones giving him the false prophecies. The only other logical answer is –”

“It’s notHim!” Dean nearly shouts as he swerves sharply into the parking lot for the motel, almost slamming on the breaks when he pulls neatly into a spot. “The bastard already told us He’s not going to help. Why the hell would He say that then turn around and do all this bullshit? I don’t know who it is, Cas, but it’s _not_ God.”

He gets out of the Impala before Castiel is even unbuckled, slamming the door behind him and stomping around to the trunk to get their bags. As soon as Castiel joins him, he starts again. “Chuck said you’re struggling with your faith. How the hell can you even believe in Him after all this? After everything you’ve seen? After what Joshua _told_ you?”

This is why he didn’t want to say anything. Castiel knew it would eventually come to this. “I can’t just stop believing, Dean. I didn’t really believe in Him until you showed up and then I was practically _forced_ into accepting that God and His angels are real. My faith has been pulled in every direction since you arrived and now I’m seeing all these signs that He’s still here, He’s still paying attention even if He said He wasn’t.”

“It was an _accident_.” Dean sneers and Castiel hates the cold, angry twist to his face. “The fire at the Church was an accident. Those kids knocked a candle over. That’s not an _act of God_ , Cas. It’s not a fucking _miracle._ ”

“I didn’t say it was. But accidents can be blessings in disguise – just as this one was.”

Dean growls in frustration and slams the lid of the trunk hard enough that the Impala bounces on its wheels. “You told me to believe in _us_ , in what _we’re_ doing.” He reaches out and Castiel almost flinches away when his fingers graze the side of his neck, dipping beneath his collar and tugging out the rosary Dean made for him until it’s hanging against his tie. “That’s why I made you this. So you could be protected and you could put your faith in _us_. Why do you still need _Him_?” His voice drops to a quiet whisper. “Why aren’t we – why aren’t _I_ enough?”

Castiel slings his bag over his shoulder and steps as close to Dean as he’s willing to get in a motel parking lot, regardless of the hour. He places his hand on Dean’s shoulder, knowing without needing to see it that his fingers are slotting almost perfectly over the mark he left there. “What I feel for you and what I feel about God are two very different things, Dean. And if you truly didn’t have even the slightest bit of faith in you Father, would you continue to wear that rosary?”

For a moment Dean looks confused until he lifts his arm and stretches it out to pull the sleeve back, revealing the beaded rosary coiled around his wrist. “It’s Dean’s.” He says softly, dropping his arm again and shrugging. He can’t even look Castiel in the eye when he speaks. “I already stopped wearing his suit and I’m basically stealing his body as soon as I Fall. The moment I’m a permanent resident, his soul is gonna slingshot straight into his own personal heaven. I warned him that he might not survive this and he was okay with it, but getting rid of _everything_ of his just – it feels wrong.”

“He was a devout man?”

“Yeah.” Dean nods and reaches up to press his hand down over Castiel’s. “You two probably would’ve been friends. He was a nice guy. I’m kind of glad he didn’t really have a family, y’know? No one he was in contact with. At least I won’t be stealing him from them too.”

Castiel squeezes his shoulder. “If you don’t fault him his beliefs, don’t fault me mine. I don’t have blind faith in God, I’m just very – I’m confused, Dean. I need time to think and I never seem to have enough for it, even on our drives.”

“You can think about it tomorrow.” Dean murmurs, pulling Castiel into a hug and dipping his head to press his face against the side of his neck. It’s a brief hug, but it leaves Castiel feeling better. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us tomorrow. The next location is a cave up in Canada, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I have a passport and the car is in my name. But you’re going to have to meet me on the other side of the border. We don’t have any documents for you.” He explains, leading Dean toward the motel office so they can get a room.

No matter what State they’re in, he always asks for a room with two beds. It may cost more, but at least they don’t have to deal with any kind of homophobic harassment. Dean had opposed it at first, claiming that he could deal with anyone with a big mouth and a bigoted opinion. But Castiel would much rather avoid any fight, or calling any attention to themselves. Fights draw onlookers and any number of their enemies could be amongst them.

Even with an extra bed in the room, Castiel is still more than happy to share his bed with Dean. He never knew how comforting it could be to sleep next to someone, and he’s never felt safer than when he has Dean watching over him at night. Sometimes he wonders how that might change when Dean loses enough of his mojo that he’s going to start sleeping.

Tonight, once Castiel has showered and brushed his teeth (and convinced Dean to do the same), he crawls into bed and waits for Dean to finish changing into his pajamas. It’s getting harder and harder to keep himself from watching whenever Dean does that. The stretch and pull of his muscles is fascinating and Castiel has to repeatedly tell himself that the only reason he’s looking is because the human body is so interesting.

And he wishes he could claim that this is a onetime thing, but it’s not. The urge to watch Dean closely for the tantalizing flash of his stomach and chest or his back has been growing stronger the more they travel together. It’s often why Castiel usually insists that while he’s in the bathroom, Dean takes the time to change. Sometimes one or both of them forgets, though Castiel has been very good at changing his own clothes while Dean is the one in the bathroom. He’s better at being shirtless around Dean now, and once or twice he’s still been in his boxers-briefs when Dean comes back into the room.

“Still thinking about God?” Dean asks when he finally climbs into the bed, flicking off the bedside light as he does so.

Castiel shakes his head, staring at the ceiling as if he’s been doing that this whole time instead of sneaking looks at Dean. “No. I’m saving that for tomorrow’s drive.”

Dean hums and leans down to kiss him softly. At the same time, Dean reaches over him to find his opposite hand where it rests over the blankets. He ignores Castiel’s curious look and pulls him over onto his side. Castiel lets himself be moved around, quickly understanding what he is doing the moment Dean puts his back to him and wiggles closer. With his knees tucked behind Dean’s and his arm wrapped loosely around his waist, Castiel makes himself comfortable while Dean does the same.

It’s interesting to lay like this with Dean. Being pressed against his back – against his _wings_ – makes his whole body tingle with the feeling of them. It’s not enough to disturb him and after being able to feel their touch as long as he has, it’s actually rather comforting now.

He smiles against the back of his neck when Dean starts playing with his fingers, tracing nonsense designs into his palm and the back of his hand. It’s rather soothing and Castiel is almost certain he could fall asleep like this. And he would, if he didn’t have the sneaking suspicion that there’s more Dean has to say tonight. His suspicions are confirmed only a few minutes later.

“Do you ever -” Dean starts and stops, hesitating. Castiel waits patiently for him to get his thoughts in order. “Do you - I mean, have you thought about - Are we ever - _shit_. This shouldn’t be so hard.”

“You can ask me anything, Dean. I’m not going to judge you.”

Dean snorts a quiet laugh. “I know, Cas.” He takes a deep breath and his next words come slightly rushed as he links their fingers together and squeezes them lightly. “All these touches and the kisses are great, they really are – especially those rare make outs you let me steal every once in a while. Do you ever think about us moving forward? Or do you want to just stay like this?”

Castiel doesn’t have an answer for him. Well, no. He _does_ have an answer, he’s just not sure how to say it, exactly. This new revelation about God is making things more complicated for him than they probably are, but the aspect of his relationship with Dean that’s being brought to light now has always tripped him up whenever he tries thinking about it.

“I’m not pressuring you, Cas. Y’gotta know that.” Dean twists a little, trying to look over his shoulder. “I’m just curious. I just wanna know if you’re thinking about it, that’s all. You know that I’m totally okay with waiting until you’re ready, and that I can deal with it if you never want to go any further than this.”

He takes a deep breath and presses his forehead to the back of Dean’s neck, breathing him in and using the familiar lightning and thunder scent to center himself. “I’m not really sure what to think right now.” The words are a whisper across Dean’s skin and Castiel can feel him shiver at the sensation. “If God _is_ actually listening and He’s not actively helping us but just sort of guiding our path – I don’t know what that means for my vows. All these signs and if He’s there or if He isn’t – it’s wreaking havoc on my abilities to decide whether I’m going to stick to my vows or not.”

A blush starts to creep into his ears and cheeks and Castiel is eternally thankful that Dean can’t actually see him right now. His voice drops even softer as he quietly, shyly, admits that he sometimes catches himself looking at Dean in certain ways. Especially when he’s changing his clothes or when he’s wearing jeans and he bends over to pick something up. Despite the fact that they both know it, he also takes care to mention that he really does enjoy all the kinds of kisses they’ve had so far and the affectionate touches they share.

Castiel doesn’t need to see Dean’s face to know that he’s smiling. He can feel it in the tingling feeling of his wings against his skin and going through him. “If you’re worried that I’m not able to be attracted to you in a physical sense – we both know that’s not true.” There is little doubt in his mind that Dean knows exactly why the mirror isn’t fogged after some of his morning showers. “It’s just – with the way I’ve been living my life and following the doctrines of the Church and the vows that I’ve taken, there are so many mental roadblocks that I’ve put in place to keep that aspect of myself from being a bother. Progressing in our relationship is just a matter of navigating around all those blocks.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Dean reminds him softly, thumb rubbing against his hand. “We can stay like this and I’ll still be happy.”

“Is that what you want, Dean?” He asks, propping himself up on one elbow so he can see Dean’s expressions in the faint light through the window. “You’re always going out of your way to make sure that I’m comfortable, but you never say what _you_ want.”

Dean shrugs and looks up at him. “I want you to be happy, Cas.”

He frowns. That’s not an answer to his question. “But do you want to move forward? Do you want more than what we have now?”

“Absolutely.” The answer comes without hesitation, wrapped around a teasing grin that’s obvious even in the weak light. Dean turns onto his back and reaches up with his other hand to press his palm against Castiel’s sternum. His voice drops to a sultry whisper that shakes a shiver down Castiel’s spine. “I want to see your soul light up in ecstasy when you’re too blissed out to move, and I want to be the one who did that to you. I want to touch my grace to your soul in the middle of it all and _feel_ that moment. I wanna be closer to you than anyone ever has or ever will be. And I want you to want that too.” He pauses and takes a small breath. “But if you don’t, I can live with it.”

Castiel swallows thickly, suddenly finding it very hard to catch his breath. “Are you sure about that?”

“I’m Falling and the fucking _apocalypse_ is right around the corner, Cas.” Dean says flatly. “Most of heaven and all of hell wouldn’t hesitate to put a blade in my chest _on sight_. My own Father hasn’t just gone on vacation, He’s walked out completely and told us to piss off. Even with all that, I can say without a doubt and in full honesty that right now I’m _really happy_.” He leans up without any effort to kiss Castiel softly. “And it’s all because of you, Cas.”

Any answer Castiel might have given gets swallowed in kisses that continue much longer than they should. Dean’s hand ends up moving from Castiel’s chest to his hair and he’s the one who gently urges Castiel to draw back. He’s the one who rearranges them to lay like they were before and Castiel’s breathing is slightly ragged against the back of his neck. He hadn’t expected Dean’s words to have quite that effect on him and it takes counting into the high seventies before he’s calmed down enough to say anything else.

“I – I’ll think about it more.” Castiel promises, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper as he tries to say his next works without tripping over them. “But if you want to try for more the next time we’re in an appropriate setting and you get the desire to – I can’t guarantee that I’ll be in a space that’s ready for that yet, but we can give it a shot.”

“Cas, I’m not going to try anything if you’re not –”

“That perhaps wasn’t the best wording.” He sighs and swallows around that tight, nervous feeling growing in his chest and pushing at his lungs. “I meant that since I’ve enjoyed everything so far, we can start trying to push my boundaries a little more. If it’s something I’m not comfortable with, I promise I’ll let you know right away.” Castiel pauses and presses another lingering kiss to Dean’s skin. “I want you to be happy too, Dean.”

The kiss Dean presses to his palm is warm and sincere. “We’ll see, but – thanks, Cas.” He kisses his hand once more before guiding it back down to rest over his stomach. “Get some sleep now.”

Castiel hums and closes his eyes. This conversation has left him with a confusing mix of feelings. On one hand, he feels filled him with a tingling sense of anticipation – a kind he’s never really had before. It’s interesting, new, _nice_. And it’s a far cry better than being caught up worrying about God. But on the other hand, he feels shaken up. Thinking about doing anything more than this with Dean, even thinking about what he just gave Dean permission to do and all the things that Dean might actually try - it scares him a little. Maybe he’s not as prepared for the next step as he thinks he is, but he wants to try - he wants to try for Dean.

But thinking about it now is making it very hard to fall asleep and just as he did earlier with his thoughts about home, Castiel takes it all and he buries it. He doesn’t shove it as deep as he has everything else, but he does try to forget about it for now. Out of everything in his life, the one thing Castiel doesn’t want to have to worrying about is his relationship with Dean. There’s too many more important things going on to let that distract him too.

He just hopes that Dean doesn’t notice his worries.


	14. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re obsessed.” Dean sneers and if this was any other time, Castiel would berate him for antagonizing the soldier here to kill him. “If you don’t want to limp out of here with your tail between your legs, you better leave. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Pappcave's Reverse!Verse](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/Papp%27s-reverse%21verse). Papp has written a few things for it already (found at the link above) - part of Castiel's past included. 
> 
> And he was nice enough to do extra art for this fic too! Go give him some love!
> 
>  
> 
> **Updates the 15th and 30th of every month until the story is complete. And no, I'm sorry, I don't know how long it will be. For chapter statuses and information, please[check here.](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hunting+for+faith)**

“You really got Chuck to email you all his manuscripts?” Castiel asks, never taking his eyes from the road.

He has the feeling that being allowed to drive the Impala will be a rare occasion and he doesn’t want to give Dean any reason to deny him this in the future. It’s not so much the _car_ that Castiel is enjoying right now, but rather more the chance to _drive_. After a few weeks in the passenger seat, Castiel now knows true boredom. Dean is great company and there’s been plenty to read, but too often has Castiel been a victim of his thoughts during these drives. When he’s sitting behind the wheel, it’s easier to turn off everything other than what he absolutely needs to ensure they don’t crash.

They’ve been on the road for a few hours now and Dean has had his nose in the laptop almost since they left the motel. He’s barely said a word and Castiel hasn’t asked why he wants to read the Supernatural books so badly. Certainly he’s curious, but Dean never really bothered him while he was reading and he should return the favour in kind. If Dean wants him to know, then he’ll tell him in his own time.

The only stop for fuel that they make is shortly after leaving the motel. After that, they don’t stop again until Castiel pulls over on the side of the road to let Dean out less than an hour from the Canadian border. Dean takes a moment to realize they’ve stopped and he looks around at their surroundings before looking at Castiel.

“Already?” He asks, closing the laptop slowly. It’s one of those questions that doesn’t need an answer and Dean unbuckles his seat belt too. “So, we’ll meet up an hour past the other side of the border? I could pop into the car as soon as you’re through, y’know.”

Castiel glances over his shoulder to make sure no one is watching. The road is completely empty. “I don’t want to risk running off road because you appear unexpectedly. And there could be a lot of cars and patrols close to the border. I’d rather wait than risk someone seeing you just _pop_ in.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean leans over the seat between them. Castiel reacts without thought, leaning to meet him for a brief kiss. “Just don’t run my ass over when you see me.”

“I’ll try to resist the temptation.” He answers smoothly, pleased with Dean’s surprised laugh. “Take the laptop with you. Find somewhere warm to sit for the next few hours and read. If I hit the first town past the border without seeing you, I’ll call.”

Dean nods, and reaches into the back seat to grab the duffle bags with all their weapons in them. He gets out of the car and shuts the door. Before he disappears with a wink, he looks around to check the area. Castiel waits a few moments before he pulls back out onto the highway and drives to the border. He isn’t worried about problems. Now that Dean has the weapons, there’s nothing suspicious to be found in the car. And he has all the proper papers in order, the car is in his name, and he has a prepared reason that he’s just coming to visit a friend for a week. If they’re lucky, he and Dean really will be in and out of Canada in that time frame.

Driving alone doesn’t feel much different from driving with Dean in the car reading. The most obvious difference is the empty space at his side and how his shoulders aren’t tingling. He’s so used to having – to _knowing_ – that Dean has a wing wrapped around him while they’re sitting close together that not having it feels like he’s floundering in a sudden absence of sound.

Getting through the border is as easy as Castiel expected it to be. They’re polite and efficient and Castiel sends a text to Dean that he got through before he continues driving. He’s not sure how Dean knew the precise place to wait, but Castiel finds him sitting on the duffle bags in the snow with the laptop propped open in his lap exactly sixty minutes after leaving the border station. The first thing Dean does upon getting back into the car is to reach over and shove cold fingers down the back of Castiel’s collar.

Castiel twitches slightly and a chill races down his spine, but his reaction is apparently not what Dean expected as he buckles himself back into his seat with a distinctly disappointed ‘aww’. His pout is tempting and Castiel fights the baffling urge to kiss it away by focusing on pulling out onto the highway again. The familiar tingle of Dean’s wings spreads across his shoulders again and Castiel relaxes – not realizing how tense he’d been on his own.

There are words on his tongue that he swallows down instead of speaking. It was only a few short hours that they were apart. A few hours doesn’t need an ‘I missed you’. Especially when he’s undecided if he was or not. Of course he likes having Dean around and Castiel had looked forward to picking him up again. But he’s used to being alone – or he _used_ to be used to being alone. His thoughts are confusing him about his own emotions and focusing on the road isn’t doing him any good.

“How long were you waiting in the snow?” Castiel asks instead, hoping conversation will stop him from making himself frustrated with his own head.

“Not long.” Dean shrugs, flipping the laptop open again. “Spent most of the time in a coffee house. They had good coffee. Oh shit.” He looks at Castiel with wide, apologetic eyes. “I should’ve grabbed you some. Sorry, Cas.”

A smile forms on his lips at the consideration and he shakes his head. “It’s fine, Dean. I’ll get some when we drive through a town.”

“I can take over driving if you want.”

“Maybe tomorrow. You’re still reading, aren’t you?” Castiel glances at him just in time to see Dean shift uncomfortably in his seat and glare at the laptop. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” Dean shakes his head and attempts to subtly change how he’s sitting so the laptop screen is angled away from Castiel. It’s really not very subtle and Dean is well aware of it as he stubbornly doesn’t look up again. “Don’t subject yourself to any more of these. Chuck can’t write worth shit.”

That only serves to pique Castiel’s curiosity and he has the feeling that Dean is lying to him. Castiel has already read several pages of the first book and even though the writing wasn’t up to his usual standards, it wasn’t _that_ bad. And if they’re as terrible as Dean says they are, he wouldn’t still be reading them. Really, Castiel had no plans on reading the books again in the first place. As interesting as the storyline sounded when Chuck told what little he did, Castiel didn’t feel any particular urge to read it.

“Okay?” He shrugs, unsure of why but not wanting to make any big deal about it.

Castiel doesn’t look at him again, keeping his focus on the road and the queue of cars he’s catching up to. A sign on the edge of the road is boasting construction ahead and he frowns at it. This is going to slow them down. He’d been hoping that by nightfall they would have arrived at the town closest to the coordinates Charlie had given them. Hopefully this construction won’t take _too_ long.

The construction goes on for miles and traffic through it proceeds at an agonizing pace. Castiel finds a radio station with classical music to help ease his fraying nerves. When Dean tries to change the channel or complain, Castiel pointedly reminds him about his own rule and Dean promptly shuts his ‘cakehole’. He also shuts the laptop and they strike up a conversation about music. It’s not a topic that Castiel knows much about, but Dean has a nearly Encyclopedic knowledge about the old masters that Castiel is fascinated to listen to.

Dusk is approaching by the time they’re out of the construction area and they’re still discussing everything that Dean learned about notable people in history simply from what he observed of them in their heavens. It’s dark out when they reach the first town and Castiel lets Dean fill the gas tank while he stretches his legs. He gets directions to the nearest motel from the attendant at the counter and he feels more tired than he should be once they get a room.

“Why don’t you go take a shower and relax, Cas.” Dean suggests, dropping their bags on one of the beds. “I can get supper ready.”

Grateful, Castiel spends a few extra minutes just standing under the hot spray. It feels wonderful and his pajamas have never felt so good when he puts them on afterward. The scent of supper in the air makes his mouth water. Dean is already changed into his pajamas and waiting at the table for Castiel, a local newspaper folded next to the dishes opposite him

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel stops to kiss the top of his head before he takes his seat. “Have you given up on the Supernatural books already?” He nods towards the book in Dean’s hands.

“Figured I’d only read them in the car.” Dean shrugs and gives him a small half smile over the top of the book while he thumbs the page to turn it.

“That way you don’t risk me reading over your shoulder?” Castiel teases, still not knowing what could possibly be in the books that would make Dean uncomfortable enough that he wouldn’t want him reading them.

He ducks his head but says nothing, shoving a large portion of a sandwich into his mouth instead. Castiel doesn’t know if he finds this amusing or exasperating but the newspaper does a good job of taking his mind off it. There are several articles that make him wonder about the state of the world, and many that he suspects have something to do with the seals of Lucifer’s cage.

The demons and angels have been quiet as of late and Castiel is both grateful and worried. It’s nice not being bothered by them, but Castiel doesn’t like the silence. If no one is focusing on them, then their attentions are on the seals and that doesn’t bode well. It doesn’t matter that Castiel knows they have several months at the least before the apocalypse will actually come. He can still feel the weight of all these worries and he’s getting tired of thinking about them. Castiel can only bury them for so long before something has to give.

An article hidden in the corner of one of the middle pages effectively pulls his thoughts away from the apocalypse. Castiel rips it out of the paper carefully and slides it across the table to Dean. “Look at this.”

It’s a small, two column piece no bigger than the palm of Castiel’s hand and includes a decently sized picture of a rundown mansion. According to the article, the house is less than an hour out of town and in a few days it will be the anniversary of several deaths that have happened in that house over the last few decades. The deaths all happen on the same day every year – if someone is stupid enough to be in the house on that day.

“What do you think?” Castiel asks, pulling the article back. “Ghost? Poltergeist? ”

“Sounds like. It’s probably whoever died in that house first.” Dean closes his book and sets it down. He tilts his head and quirks a smile at him. “You thinking about doing a little hunting on the side, Cas?”

He shrugs and folds the newspaper. “We’re hunters, Dean. It’s our job.”

“Fair enough.” Dean reaches across the table to take Castiel's empty dishes. "Do you want me to sneak into the library and do some overnight research? I could find out who the first death was while you're sleeping and we can take care of it tomorrow before we ship out."

Castiel carefully folds the newspaper while he thinks about it. Having Dean figure everything out during the night is both logical and saves them quite a bit of time. They could lose almost a whole day or longer to researching, finding the correct grave or object, and digging up the body to salt and burn it. But having Dean do that while Castiel sleeps means that he'll be sleeping alone. He hasn't had a night alone for over a month and he doesn't miss having a bed to himself. And it hasn't escaped his notice that he hasn't had a nightmare since he started sharing a bed with Dean.

That thought decides his answer for him.

"I wouldn't mind having a day out of the car." He stands up and helps Dean with a short clean up. "Stay here tonight and we'll go to the library when it opens in the morning."

"Good. There's a Doctor Sexy marathon playing tonight." Dean grins at him and Castiel rolls his eyes, leaving him at the counter in the kitchenette.

The book he's been reading the last few days is waiting on the bedside table and Castiel knows he wasn't the one who put it there. He can't help his smile or the warm feeling in his stomach. Dean is anticipating his needs and Castiel finds it touching. He can't remember the last time anyone was so considerate of him. If Dean isn't careful, he's going to get Castiel too used to being pampered like this.

They steal the extra pillows from the other bed and use them to recline against the headboard together. Dean has the TV on low, only half watching episodes that he's already memorized long ago while he reads. Castiel has absolutely no concept of the time. He's completely absorbed in his book until Dean leans over and presses a kiss to his shoulder.

"It's late, Cas." Dean touches his wrist, fingers sliding toward the book. "You should get some sleep."

Castiel glances at the clock on the table between the beds, surprised to find that it's already after midnight. He's lost hours to reading and he hadn't even noticed it. Dean leads the way to the bathroom to brush their teeth, but Castiel is slower. He returns to the bed last and to his surprise, he finds Dean sitting on his side of the bed without his shirt.

"Is this okay, Cas?" He asks quietly, looking at Castiel with something bordering on both hopeful and nervous. His shirt is still in his hands and he twists it between his palms.

It's getting a little hard to breathe and Castiel has to force himself to look away from the freckled planes of Dean’s chest and stomach. "Yes, it's –" He swallows hard and slips under the covers on his side of the bed, rolling over to put his back to him. "However you're comfortable with, Dean. Even if you don't sleep, you should still make yourself comfortable in bed."

"I know _I'm_ comfortable with it. I wanna know if _you're_ comfortable with it?" Dean asks, his weight settling heavy behind him.

Castiel lifts his head to make room for Dean's arm under the pillow and he refrains from reacting when Dean puts his arm around his waist. The heat against his back feels almost scalding when Dean presses closer. He's doing exactly what Castiel told him to do. Dean is pushing Castiel's boundaries – testing the waters, so to speak. After a few deep breaths, Castiel relaxes back against him and covers Dean's hand with his own.

"Yes, Dean. I'm fine with it." And he is. It's just a shirt and Castiel has already been getting used to Dean changing in the same room as him. This is no different.

Dean smiles against the back of his neck and drops a small kiss above his collar. "Thanks, Cas. G'night."

He squeezes Dean's hand and closes his eyes, focusing on counting his breathing until he drops off. Despite his late bedtime, Castiel still wakes early. The library doesn't open until closer to noon and they spend the morning driving out to the mansion to take a look around so Dean can determine if it is a ghost or not.

The building is old but in rather good condition and from what Castiel can tell, it's not for sale. Whoever owns it must not want to live in it despite how completely habitable it is. It has rather expensive locks and an alarm system that Dean has to disable before they can even get inside after Castiel manages to pick the lock.

They're not more than a few feet in the door before Dean stops Castiel with a hand on his chest. The air grows thick and the scent of a storm tickles Castiel's nose. He looks worriedly at Dean before glancing around for anything made of iron that he could use as a weapon. It may not be the anniversary date just yet, but Castiel shouldn't have taken that chance – even with a Falling angel at his side.

"This place is full of spirits." Dean whispers, eyes darting around the foyer. He takes a few steps forward to glance into the front rooms off the hall. Castiel wonders if the holy fire burned glasses in the case he has tucked away in his inside pocket would be able to see the same that Dean can. "A hell of a lot of people have died in here over the years, Cas. They're not _bound_ here, but they're not exactly leaving. Looks like they're just hanging around."

"Why?" Castiel asks slowly, following only when Dean gestures for him to. He can't help glancing around too, though all he notices of the ghosts' presence is the cold air and a chill down his spine. Nothing _feels_ aggressive, but he has his doubts about anyone murdered here being passive.

"Don't know yet." Dean keeps talking in a whisper and he reaches back to take Castiel's hand.

He doesn't object and lets Dean lead the way through the first floor. In every room Dean stops and looks hard at nothing that Castiel can see. The most that Castiel notices is dark stains on the hardwood – stains he can only assume is blood. After the first floor, they go to the second and Castiel winces at the dried splatter on the wall. Apparently no one ever wants to stick around long enough to properly clean the place up.

When they go down to the basement, Dean doesn't even make it to the basement before he turns around and ushers Castiel back up the stairs. "There's only one spirit down there and it's hostile as fuck." He explains, shutting the door tightly once they're outside. "That house is _definitely_ haunted and not in a good way. We're gonna be looking for someone who died in that basement."

"That narrows it down a little." Castiel looks back at the house before he gets into the car. "If you look up old police reports, I'll take a look at archived newspapers. We just need a name of the first person who died." He looks at Dean as he starts the car. "Do you know why the others are there? Are we going to have to dig them all up too?"

"Justice." Dean says simply and his grip on the steering wheel tightens. "They're waiting for justice."

It takes them part way into the afternoon to find the name. Sheila Adamson was found in the basement nearly thirty years prior. According to the archived police report that Dean found, it appears that she had been tortured and repeatedly raped in the basement for an unknown period of time before she was brutally beaten to death. The original owner of the home had been arrested and is currently serving life in prison for it.

"There's no record of anyone dying in that house before her." Dean sighs, leaning away from the computer and stretching his arms above his head. "Now we need to find where she's buried, don't we?"

Castiel taps the screen of the film viewer set up against the wall behind Dean. "Here's her obituary and the cemetery. If we go in after hours, we should be able to salt and burn the bones before it's too late. I want to check the house afterward and make sure that she's moved on before we leave."

"We could've stayed the night if you hadn't checked us out this morning." He grumbles.

"We're already behind schedule." Castiel points out, writing down the name of the cemetery before he takes the roll of film out of the display and puts it back in the box. Dean waits for him to put it back on the shelves before they leave. "If I sleep during the drive, by the time we get to our destination we'll be able to go straight to the coordinates Charlie gave us."

Dean still pouts the entire way to the car. "Fine. But I'm picking where we're eating dinner."

"I don't know why you're complaining." He sighs, looking out the window. "You're not the one who's going to have to sleep in the back seat."

His only answer is a shrug that Castiel hears more than he sees. Whatever mood Dean is in when they leave the library is gone by the time they reach the restaurant. They take as long as they possibly can, spreading their meal out over a few hours to waste time before Castiel bundles up and they head out in the dark to go break into the cemetery. The shovels and bags of rock salt hadn't been questioned by the border patrol and Castiel's prepared story about needing them if he gets stuck in the snow was both genius and unnecessary.

Digging into the frozen ground is hard work and Castiel has never been more thankful for Dean's angelic strength than he is right now. After cracking open the coffin, Castiel dumps the gasoline and salt on the bones before he returns to the car to let Dean light the fire. He doesn't want to be anywhere near a bonfire right now and even watching the flames flicker in the hole from the Impala makes him uneasy.

"They're gone." Dean announces as they make their way down the front hall back at the mansion. "They’re all gone."

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Castiel looks around too, despite not seeing anything different. He doesn’t feel that prickling along the back of his neck he usually gets, and he can’t see his breath in the air now. “It means that they’ve moved on.”

A soft hum is his answer and Dean heads the way down the basement stairs. This time he has no problem with going all the way into the basement and Castiel follows cautiously, tightly gripping the iron rod he brought with him. Dean does a lap around the room before he clears it with a double thumbs up. Castiel relaxes for the first time in hours and he’s more than happy to return to the Impala and crawl into the back seat.

He uses a bundled sweater as a pillow and tries covering as much of himself with his trench coat as he can. Dean leans over the back of the front seat and pulls Castiel’s coat down over his feet, leaving his upper half mostly cold. Before Castiel can complain or question him, Dean tucks his leather jacket up to Castiel’s chin.

The back seat isn't big enough for a full grown man, but he makes himself comfortable. With the steady rumble of the tires on the road under them, Castiel falls asleep relatively quickly. It isn’t completely restful since he isn’t used to sleeping cramped up on a car seat without Dean pressed close. Maybe he would have been better off trying to sleep sitting up in the front seat.

“Cas.” Dean sounds cautious when he wakes him hours later. His hand is gentle on his shoulder. “We’re here, Cas. Let’s go get coffee and donuts before we find our magic numbers.”

 _Coffee_. Yes, good. That is exactly what Castiel needs right now. He groans and rolls onto his back, trying to stretch out his legs and only serving to push himself up against one door. Dean might be laughing at him, but Castiel can’t really tell. It’s muffled. Like he isn’t in the car anymore. When the door at his feet opens, Castiel moans in relief and gives his legs a proper stretch.

“C’mon, Cas.” Dean sounds disgustingly chipper as he grabs Castiel’s ankle and pulls him down the seat until he can stretch his back too. “Upsy daisy.”

Castiel grumbles and groans the whole way to his feet, barely managing to stay upright as Dean takes his jacket back and he’s forced to fumble with getting his coat on himself. His tongue and teeth feel fuzzy, gross, and they taste disgusting. He crinkles his nose at the taste and Dean laughs again, slinging his arm around Castiel’s shoulders to guide him into the coffee house. Castiel pushes away from him to stumble toward the bathroom, leaving Dean with his wallet and enough cash to get breakfast.

There are three cups of coffee on the table when Castiel joins Dean at one of the tables. Castiel finishes the two Dean got him before he’s even done one. The breakfast sandwich goes down slower, but at least now Castiel is less likely to throw something or snap at an innocent bystander. He learns while they eat breakfast that Sam texted during the night to say that his and Balthazar’s second location was a bust. It was just an ancient Egyptian stone in another museum. It seems they only have one more place to hit down in Mexico before they have to head overseas.

“Do you want to get a motel now or later?” Dean asks as they’re leaving. “The guy at the counter gave me directions to the closest one. You wanna freshen up and get changed?”

It’s a tempting offer considering Castiel is still wearing the grimy jeans and t-shirt he had on while they were digging up Sheila Adamson’s grave. A hot shower and a good tooth scrubbing wouldn’t go amiss. Dean seems pristine as ever and Castiel briefly hates him for it and his ridiculously good mood. It’s as if he’s taken all of Castiel’s usually pleasant attitude and left him sore and grumpy.

“We’re going to be hiking through a forest.” Castiel sighs, slumping into the passenger seat. They assume what they’re looking for is going to be a cave, judging by how the coordinates seem to be in the middle of nowhere. “There’s no point in getting clean only to get sweaty and dirty again. We’ll get a room later when we’re either done or taking a break.”

“Got’cha.” Dean reaches over to get the GPS out of the glove box.

Castiel takes it from him. “Just drive.” He fiddles with the little buttons, finding the coordinates he programmed into it a week ago.

The closest they can get to the coordinates by car is some kind of logging road. Dean grumbles about ruts and snow and Castiel tunes him out until they have to start walking. He laments not having a thicker coat, but a sweater underneath gives him the extra layering. The look on Dean’s face when Castiel pulls on a hat, gloves, and wraps a scarf around his neck is pure amusement, but looking at Dean without either just makes Castiel feel even colder.

Dean only grins at him and tugs on the tassels at the ends of the scarf. “This is cute.”

“I need at least another cup of coffee before I’ll tolerate being called cute.” Castiel swats his hands away and looks down at the GPS. “Let’s go. I want to be in and out of here before it gets dark.”

“Knew I should’ve gotten you that third one.” Dean laughs, following Castiel away from the road.

It may be cold, but the snow isn’t very deep. The walk doesn’t take nearly as long as Castiel thought it would and the exertion keeps him warm. Dean whistles half the way until Castiel tries to hit him – and misses – with a snowball. His good mood is starting to rub off on him though and Castiel does feel a little less grumpy by the time they find a trail that might have been an access road once upon a time. They follow the road until it reaches a ridge that rises sharply out of the ground.  

“Can I just point out that it’s _really_ unfair that Sam and Balthazar have had nice, cozy museums and we’ve had –” Dean gestures sharply at the stony ridge and the boards nailed to the wood frame of a mine entrance. “We’ve had _two_ holes in the ground.”

“Sam did make the list, after all.” Castiel points out, turning off the GPS and trading it for a flashlight from one of his pockets.

Grumbling, Dean steps up to the entrance and neatly kicks apart the boards. Castiel helps him pull them out of the way before shining his flashlight down the tunnel. He wonders if they should return to town to see if there are any records about the mine – including a map. Dean makes the decision himself and fishes another flashlight out of Castiel’s pockets. Ducking under a cobweb, Dean heads into the tunnel while muttering darkly in various languages.

Castiel finds it extremely amusing and it kicks his mood up another few notches. He follows after Dean carefully, picking his way over rocks and cracked timbers. “How safe a structure do you think this is?”

Dean glances back over his shoulder and gestures at him to take his hand. “Stick close. If anything starts falling on our heads, I’ll zap us both out of here.”

He seems to be finding all the excuses for holding hands lately and Castiel has no complaints for it. He slips his fingers between Dean’s and walks beside him. There’s nothing of note for what feels like hours as the tunnel twists and turns. It can’t be more than twenty minutes, but Castiel gets more uncomfortable by the minute. Walking down an abandoned mineshaft isn’t exactly his first choice for a date and the worry that it could collapse on them at any time is stressful at best.

“Do you hear that?” Dean whispers as they approach another bend in the tunnel.

The sounds of their footsteps has changed. They’re not fading into the dark anymore. Echoes are bouncing back to them now so they must be approaching the end. When they round the corner, their suspicions are confirmed – though it isn’t the kind of end that either of them was expecting.

“Are those what I think they are?” Castiel asks quietly, flicking the beam of his flashlight over the symbols carved into a heavy padlock hanging on a door set into the stone wall.

“Angel warding.” Dean confirms. “Think you could pick that lock?”

Castiel gives him a flat look as he pulls his kit out. “Time me.”

He crouches by the door and Dean keeps his flashlight on the lock while Castiel works picking it. It takes longer than expected, but he does get that satisfying click in the end. With the lock on the floor, Castiel pulls the door open carefully as Dean glances through.

“Is there anything else keeping you out?” He asks, glancing to Dean.

“Nope.” With a shrug, Dean steps past him and grabs at his hand as he does so. “Idiots should’ve put warding on the door itself. Careful, we’ve got stairs.”

The stairs lead down into a room that gives Castiel chills. Just from their flashlights alone, Castiel can see that it’s a six sided room. The end opposite the door has a cubicle covered with a curtain. There are tables against all the walls, each one covered with a thick cloth and decorated with various paraphernalia that Castiel doesn’t want to look too closely at.

All it takes is a thought for Dean to light the many candles around the room – some free standing, many in candelabras. All of them are black and many burn in different colours. Dean gestures down at the floor and Castiel frowns at the lines of a black pentacle neatly drawn across the entire thing.

“This is most definitely a place of worship for some kind of satanic cult.” Dean voices, looking around the room. He doesn’t seem nearly as uncomfortable here as Castiel does. “No wonder this whole place was closed off.”

“Can we just find the tablet and leave, please?” Castiel asks quietly, barely refraining from making the sign of the cross. He has a literal _angel_ with him. That’s a thousand times better than any symbol of protection he could make, but his free hand still goes to the front of his shirt and he presses his palm over the rosary he’s wearing under it.

Dean glances around the room and turns his flashlight on the curtained cubicle at the back of the room. “Looks like the best place to start, don’t you think?” He crosses over to it and pulls the curtain back. “Angel proof box. Cas, babe, could you open it?”

“If you promise to _never_ call me that again.” His glare does nothing but make Dean grin brightly and raise his eyebrows at him.

They stand side by side in the entrance of the cubicle and Dean leans against him heavily while Castiel opens the box. A stone tablet that looks nearly identical to the one Chuck has lies within the box and Castiel looks at Dean hopefully, the question hanging on the tip of his tongue. Dean glances at Castiel and a wide smile breaks across his lips. He uses both hands to cup Castiel’s face and pull him into a short, hard kiss.

He breaks away with a sharp laugh. “I can’t read it!” Dean gestures at the tablet and his grin is bordering on ridiculous as Castiel lifts the tablet from the box carefully. “Third time’s the charm, huh, Cas?”

“You might want to reconsider that, Abdiel.”

Castiel’s stomach drops and his heart lurches violently in his chest. He drops the lid on the box and turns around sharply, his hand dipping under his jacket to find the gun tucked into the back of his pants. Something starts screaming in the back of his head when he recognizes the angel standing at the bottom of the stairs. The memory of the last time he saw that face flashes through his mind and all Castiel can see is Dean with light and blood seeping through his shirt.

“ _Vaniah_.” Dean hisses, taking a quick step to place himself in front of Castiel. “What are you – how the _hell_ did you find us?”

It’s a good question. They’re both protected from being sensed by angels. It shouldn’t be possible for Vaniah to find them. Castiel can barely breathe just seeing him standing there and he’s _scared._ He doesn’t want to be, but he is. What if Dean gets hurt again? There’s isn’t much he can do in a fight between angels and his mind is struggling to think past the last time Dean and Vaniah fought.

“You’re not as good at hiding as you think.” Vaniah says coldly. “I’ve been tracking you since your consort’s name came up in the border crossing. I’ve put my fingers in a lot of pies in trying to find you.” He pauses and gestures vaguely over his shoulder. “And your car is rather distinctive no matter the vantage point.”

“I thought Zachariah was done hunting us.” Castiel forces his voice to remain steady and firm, hoping it betrays nothing of his shaking nerves. He holds the tablet tighter, torn between protecting it and throwing it aside to put himself between Dean and Vaniah. “Dean and Sam are _Falling_. We’ve stopped trying to save the seals. What more can you possibly want from us?”

Vaniah tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at him. “I don’t care about your last ditch effort with the tablets. You’re never going to find the ones you need.” Dean immediately slides over to fully block Castiel and the tablet and Vaniah’s expression turns stony and dark. “I put too much time and effort into this mission. I’ve lost too many angels to give up just because Zachariah’s grown tired of your games. I’m going to drag you back to heaven dead or kicking and screaming. I don’t care which.”

“You’re obsessed.” Dean sneers and if this was any other time, Castiel would berate him for antagonizing the soldier here to kill him. “If you don’t want to limp out of here with your tail between your legs, you better leave. Now.”

Of course Vaniah doesn’t move from his place in front of the stairs. All he does is lift his arm and Castiel’s breath catches in his throat at the silver blade that appears in his hand. Dean reaches into his coat and withdraws his own sword. Neither of them gets a chance to say or do anything. With a simple gesture, Vaniah sends Dean flying across the room in one direction and Castiel in the other.

He loses the tablet and his gun when he hits the wall, knocking over one of the tables as he drops to the floor. Pain lances up his spine and down one of his arms when his elbow catches on the table’s edge. Stars dance in front of his eyes and everything swims in his vision for a few moments. Castiel is vaguely aware of Dean calling his name, voice laced with concern.

“I’m fine.” The words feel like they don’t come out right and he shakes his head, hoping that will sort out his brain. He’s sore, but he doesn’t feel like anything is broken. “I’m fine, Dean.”

There’s a crash of noise and Castiel looks up to see Dean shoving Vaniah back against a wall with a punch to the jaw that sounds like a sledgehammer on cement, his jacket abandoned in a corner. It’s hard to tell in the candlelight and with his head still ringing, but Castiel is certain he sees _rage_ etched in every line of Dean’s face. The air is trembling with the storm of power flaring between the angels and Vaniah shoves Dean away with a foot in the stomach.

“Do you even know why I’m down here?” Dean grunts, getting his feet back under him and returning with an upward slash of his sword. “I’m trying to _save_ people and you assholes are actually working with _demons_ to destroy the world.”

“You’re a _traitor_ , Abdiel.” Vaniah hisses, parrying the attack and pushing Dean back across the room as he retaliates. “Why would I believe you?”

Their swords scrape against each other as they spar, gaining and losing ground back and forth across the room. Castiel watches, entranced by the dance of fists and blades. Each punch is solid and Castiel is certain they would send any normal person to their grave.

“Why not try opening your eyes and ears for once when you’re back home and take a good look at what your bosses are _really_ doing.” Dean snaps, leaning out of the reach of Vaniah’s sword. “God ditched us and all His plans. We’re trying to _help_ people and you’re choosing to kill a planet full of _life_.”

“We’re doing what God intended!” Vaniah snarls, slashing repeatedly and forcing Dean back with every step. “ _You’re_ the one defying all of heaven.”

Castiel can’t watch anymore. He can hardly breathe while watching Dean dodge a sword over and over again, just waiting for when it strikes. It’s wreaking havoc with his nerves and making it very hard to think. He needs to focus and find a way to help Dean before something happens to him. Would he be able to stand seeing Dean get hurt again? The answer terrifies him.

He digs his pocket knife out while Dean fights back. Castiel rolls one of his sleeves up and carefully cuts into his forearm – not so deep to be a problem, but deep enough to get the blood flowing. It takes a decent amount of his will power to turn away from the fight and stop watching it. He has to work quickly, painting the symbol from memory on the wall behind him. The sooner he can get Vaniah away from Dean, the better.

A hiss of pain draws Castiel’s attention back to the center of the room. Dean is staggering back, his hand clamped over his upper arm. Blood is leaking through his fingers, but Castiel doesn’t see any light. It’s only a slight relief to know that he isn’t wounded too deeply. The pained grimace is new and Castiel swallows around the lump in his throat. Dean has only ever looked like he’s hurt when he’s been bleeding grace.  

Vaniah’s back is mostly to Castiel. His voice is cold, but triumphant. “Pain isn’t what it used to be, is it, Abdiel? You’re Falling faster than expected.” He lowers his weapon slowly. “If you surrender and come back with me now, you’ll be spared humanity.”

Dean’s upper lip curls back in a disgusted sneer. “Over my dead body.”

Castiel has read enough books and seen enough movies to know the cliché lines that Vaniah might say following that. He doesn’t want to give him that chance. With blood smeared across his arm, the wall, and dripping from his fingers, Castiel calls Dean’s name. It only takes a split second glance for Dean to understand. His jaw goes tight and he disappears without a word before Vaniah can even turn around.

There is no confusion on Vaniah’s face when he sees Castiel. It’s only surprise. Castiel doesn’t give him long to see or understand what’s happening. He slams his hands down on the symbol, closing his eyes against the light that fills the room. If only he could close his ears to the pained scream. This is the first time he’s used this seal since Balthazar taught it to him. Banishing an angel must hurt them – why else would they yell like that?

He uses his knife to cut a strip of cloth from his shirt to wrap around the cut on his arm. There’s nothing to do until Dean returns other than to collect the tablet and wait for him. Castiel aches as he bends over to pick the table up again, leaving the sheet that covered it bunched on top. The tablet is easy enough to find with the sheet out of the way, but Castiel’s stomach sinks again when he sees the broken pieces.

“Cas?” Dean announces his return with the rustling flap of his wings. “Everything okay?”

“No.” Castiel picks up the two pieces and turns around to show them to Dean. “I dropped it when he threw me. Will Chuck still be able to read it if it’s broken?”

“I don’t know.” He doesn’t even bother looking at the tablet, instead reaching out to touch the bloody cloth around his arm. “You want me to fix that?”

Vaniah’s words still echo through Castiel’s head. Dean is Falling faster than he should be and now he can _feel_ pain. Castiel shakes his head and shrugs. “It’s fine. Save your energy for emergencies.” He looks pointedly at Dean’s arm where the sleeve of his shirt is untouched and free of blood. “You should have let that heal normally.”

“Shit like that heals automatically.” Dean shrugs and crosses the room to get his jacket. “I can’t just stop it. We should get out of here before Vaniah comes back.”

It takes the entire walk back to the mouth of the mine shaft for Castiel to get himself to stop worrying about Dean’s Falling. He doesn’t bring any of it up. Dean is well aware of his situation and he’s much too old for Castiel to be lecturing him about how he uses his own powers. Instead, Castiel buries those worries and hopes they’ll go away. He’s known for weeks that Dean and Sam are Falling. It’s nothing new and he shouldn’t still be worrying about it.

What he _should_ be concerned about is that Vaniah now knows that they’re interested in the tablets and there’s nothing to stop him from telling Zachariah. How easy would it be for them to check on Chuck and find his house warded from them? Their entire plan might have just been ruined and Chuck could be in far more danger than he was a half hour ago. Should they warn him? Chuck was already nervous just having the first tablet at his house – this might have him back out of helping them completely.

Right now they need to focus on fixing the tablet and getting it to Chuck. If they’re going to say anything to him about Vaniah and the chances of the angels knowing, that will have to be something they figure out when they actually decide to talk about it. Dean seems far too preoccupied to talk right now.

Castiel is scared. He's scared and worried and he can't afford to be either. His head hurts and his chest feels too tight. How bruised is his back? Is anything sprained? It doesn't feel like it, but he might not notice right away. He might not notice until later. If it proves to be a problem, Dean will likely heal him whether Castiel asks him to or not.

Dean stays close in the forest, constantly checking over his shoulder with his sword still in his hand. Castiel can feel his wing wrapped close around him. Often times he's walking through it if he pulls a little ahead or falls slightly behind Dean while they walk back to the car. The tablet is tucked carefully inside Castiel's coat and it feels heavier than he knows it is. It feels like a target painted on his chest.

If Vaniah opens his mouth about it, who knows how many angels are going to come after them. How long is that going to take? Where do angels go when they're banished by that seal? Will he be able to come back to this place or will that seal keep him away forever?

There are so many questions and for once, Castiel doesn't feel like asking them. He doesn't want to think about this anymore. Maybe later, once he's had the chance to calm down and actually _think_ for a while. When he can just sit and relax instead of having to run again. It's been so long since the angels had bothered them that Castiel thought they didn't have to run anymore.

“You okay, Cas?” Dean asks softly, his hand closing over Castiel's shoulder and pulling him to a stop. “You're quiet.”

“They're going to be looking for us again, aren't they?” He stares ahead at their footprints from what feels like forever ago. “Did we just ruin everything by letting Vaniah get away?”

Dean pulls at his shoulder to turn him around to face him. “No, we didn't. Vaniah made this personal and he's gone off the radar to hunt us. The last thing he's gonna do is go blab to Zachariah that he got his ass served to him by a _human_.”

“But he knows about the tablet.”

“Yeah, so? If he tells anyone about that, he's going to have to explain _why_ he knows. And he's too proud to go telling anyone about how you beat him with that spell.” Dean tilts his head and grins reassuringly. “It's gonna be fine, Cas. Trust me.”

Castiel sighs and sags forward into the comforting hug Dean easily wraps him in. If only he could be as confident about all of this as Dean is. There are too many things he doesn't know or doesn't understand. It's too much for just one person and with every passing hour Castiel is more and more aware of just how out of his depths he is in all of this.

“C'mon.” Dean whispers against his ear. “Let's get back to the Impala. We'll go find a motel and we can rest for a few days before we head back to Chuck's. You can take a hot bath or something and just _relax_ for the first time in forever. How's that sound?”

It sounds wonderful. No car, no moving around, they could just sit and be themselves for a little while. If only they could do that in his own home. That would be perfect. Home. With Dean, and Balthazar, and Sam. He just wants everyone to be home and safe again. Is that so much to ask? Right now it is. They have too much to do now to waste time trying to relax. Castiel can’t just _forget_ about what’s happening – no matter how hard he tries.

“It’s fine, Dean.” He steps back, smiling softly. “We have work to do. The sooner we finish that, the sooner we’ll be able to relax.”

Dean looks doubtful, but he returns Castiel’s smile. He keeps his arm around Castiel’s shoulder for a little ways before the snow forces them apart again. They find the car just as they left it and Castiel carefully tucks the pieces of the tablet into a bag in the backseat while Dean wastes time trying to chip ice buildup off the front bumper of the car. Before they can get in themselves, Castiel hears the crunch of snow and rustle of bushes.

He’s expecting to turn around and find Vaniah on the road with them. The last person Castiel ever imagined seeing there is _Meg_. It feels like everything under his skin starts boiling. Breathing becomes almost impossible and his fingers curl into fists tight enough that his nails dig into his palms. Dean sucks in a sharp hiss of air and he’s at Castiel’s side in a beat, hand tight on his shoulder.

“Hello boys.” Meg drawls, sticking her hands in her pockets and glancing up and down the road. “You took your sweet time. I was starting to get bored waiting.”

“The hell are you doing here?” Dean hisses, squeezing Castiel’s shoulder harder when he tries to take a step forward. He may not have Balthazar’s Colt, but he could probably take Dean’s angel sword easily enough if he doesn’t keep him from doing it.

She doesn’t even seem to hear him. “It’s been a _long_ time since the last time I came up here. I’m getting all tingly with nostalgia.” She fakes a shiver and slants a grin at them. “Haven’t been up here since I helped build that crypt.”

Castiel’s jaw feels locked. He doesn’t care about the poison words spilling from her demonic tongue. There are so many things he wants to say and nothing is coming out. It feels like there’s acid in his belly and burning through his chest. Whenever he looks her in the face, all Castiel can see is fire and blood. All he hears ringing in his ears is laughter and screams. A cold sweat trickles down his back and his hands start shaking at his sides.

“If I have to start making threats, they’re not gonna be empty ones.” Dean says lowly. “Leave us alone.”

Meg’s lips tilt into a smirk. “It’s a good thing I posted someone here to call me if anyone showed up. I bet you dimwits don’t even know I’m the one who put that tablet down there when I built this place.”

He feels sick. Castiel’s stomach turns and everything suddenly feels very dizzy. How do the demons know about the tablets? How did she know to place someone here? He swallows thickly and forces himself to relax. Castiel can’t be any good to Dean here if he’s too blinded by his hate for what Meg did to his home and family.

“Confused?” She asks, her smug voice grating on Castiel’s ears. “I’ll volunteer the information since you’re so unwilling to even _talk_ to me. It was chance when one of us saw your brothers checking out the one in the museum. When it went missing, I knew what was going on. Figured it was just a matter of time before you idiots came here for this one.”

“Why are demons following them?” Castiel asks, finally managing to make his throat work despite how the words come out through clenched teeth.

Meg looks delighted that he said anything at all. “Oh, Clarence, that was just an accident – a coincidence that we saw them at the museum and took off before the angel could see us. Since then, I’ve been put in charge of making sure you don’t get the tablets.” She tilts her head and her eyes slide to Dean. “And I’m here with an offer for you, feathers.”

That chill along Castiel’s spine gets worse and he steps forward, putting himself between Meg and Dean. He doesn’t want her anywhere near anyone he holds dear again. Before he, or Dean, can say anything to tell her that none of them will ever be interested in her deals, Meg continues talking.

“Join us.” She says simply, shrugging. “Let us help you seal off heaven and we’ll protect your little family when the apocalypse starts. If heaven has their way, it’s going to be Michael and Lucifer facing off once we get Father out of the cage. After that, it’s all-out war between heaven and hell right here. If we seal off heaven, it’s only going to be Lucifer raising hell on Earth. Don’t you want to be on the winning side?”

“The more angels you bring over to your side, the better. Is that it?” Dean sounds angry – _deadly –_ and Castiel puts his arm out to keep him from moving. He will _not_ let Dean get any closer to her. “How many of us do you already have in your pockets? How many of my brothers and sisters are already working to keep Michael in heaven?”

Meg shrugs again, her eyebrows twitching up with her smirk. “The more angels that Fall to our side, the better our chances of winning. If you and your brother come over now, Alistair is willing to give you high ranking positions. You’ll even be given an opportunity that hasn’t been offered in _eons_.”

Dean snorts a cynical laugh and Castiel’s pride in him swells. “I don’t care what it is. You can take your _opportunity_ back to Alistair, Azazel _and_ Lilith and tell them they can shove it up their lily white asses. Sam and I aren’t interested now and we never will be.”

“You’d rather go through the apocalypse a _human_ than one of us?” She looks surprised, glancing from Dean to Castiel and back. “If you choose to Fall past humanity, you could be one of us. You’d be _better_ than us.” Her eyes flick to black as her smile tilts up again. “You’d be one of _them_.”

“Who needs white eyes when I already have green?” Dean squeezes Castiel’s shoulder again and he feels the tingle of his wings all down his chest. “Save your breath. I’m not interested. I’m not in this to save my own skin. We’re doing this to save _everyone_.” He lifts his hand and points his sword at her. “The answer is _no_.”

Meg’s expression shifts then. Before she looked amused. Now she looks annoyed. “You’ll be human before long, feathers. How safe do you think you’ll be able to keep Clarence then? What about your brothers? Humans expire so _easily_ , you know.”

She’s threatening his family again. Castiel had thought seeing red was merely an expression, but the edges of his vision tints crimson and a rushing noise thunders through his ears. He doesn’t even remember grabbing Dean’s sword or attacking. Meg’s laughter echoes along the road as she dodges out of the way and it only feeds into Castiel’s rage. She knows about the tablets and their plan. Vaniah knows about it too. If the angels don’t know already, they’re going to know soon enough.

Everything is _wrong_ again. It was going so well and in the matter of an hour, it all went to hell. There’s something pulling tight behind his ribs. It’s bubbling and building and Castiel feels sick to his stomach. He wants to put the sword through Meg’s chest. He wants to avenge Father Christopher and put an end to all this _worry_. He wants to go back to his normal routine at home. He _wants_ –

“Cas!” Dean hisses, grabbing him around his stomach and lifting him off his feet in the same motion that he turns him back toward the car.

He nearly snaps at Dean, twisting around to push him away as Dean shoves him up against the side of the car and drops his hands on the roof of the Impala to keep him in place. Castiel stops short when he sees over the hood of the car what he’d been too blind to see before. Demons – dozens of them. They’re coming out of the forest in droves. It only takes a glance to see how completely out numbered they are – even with Dean’s angelic abilities.

“You sure you don’t want to reconsider, feathers?” Meg calls over the heads of the other demons, keeping her distance from Castiel and the sword still held painfully tight in his hand.

“Not. Happening.” Dean growls and Castiel can feel the rumble of it against his back. His voice drops into a whisper and he presses in even tighter behind him. “Hold on, Cas. This isn’t going to be fun.”

Before he can question it, the sensation of falling head over heels leaves Castiel dizzy. Between one blink and the next, Castiel is looking at a snowy Canadian forest and then he’s looking at a grubby alley wall. Dean’s heavy weight against his back falls away quickly and Castiel turns to find him staggering back against the other wall of the alley. He’s breathing hard and shaking, his face more pale than Castiel has ever seen it.

All his anger evaporates sharply and Castiel drops Dean’s sword. He’s at Dean’s side immediately, a hand at his shoulder to keep him standing when Dean starts to crumple forward on himself. His eyes are glazed over and he barely looks like he’s conscious let alone cognitive at the moment. That doesn’t stop Castiel from helping him stand properly on his feet and cupping his face with his free hand.

“Dean?” He asks softly, worry creeping in where all his rage had been previously. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

“I think –” Dean starts and stops, wavering in place until more and more of his weight is being held up by Castiel. “I think I need to lie down. That took a little more outta me than I thought it would.”

Castiel wastes no time in helping him to the passenger seat of the car. He doesn’t know where they are, but he knows that he needs to get Dean somewhere safe. Dean slumps back in the seat and closes his eyes, not even reacting when Castiel buckles them both in and starts the car. While it warms up, he gets the GPS out and waits for it to find their location. Once he knows where they are, Castiel can find some place he can reinforce where they’ll both be safe until Dean’s recovered.

The GPS blinks at him while the map loads. When it finally does, Castiel is surprised to find that they’re on the other side of town from Chuck’s house. It is, most definitely, the safest place around. He fortified it himself. All he needs to do now is get there before demons or angels or _both_ show up again. Before he pulls the car out of the alley and onto the road, Castiel touches the side of Dean’s face gently, feeling his cheek and forehead with the back of his hand. Dean’s warm to the touch and for the life of him, Castiel can’t remember if Dean’s ever felt cold before.

He calls Balthazar and Sam while on the road, the phone sitting on the middle seat and on speaker. The call is kept short and he tells them to find some place to hide themselves until they can figure out what to do. Castiel promises to call them back and give more information once he’s reached Chuck. It doesn’t even occur to him to tell them about the tablet until he’s pulling onto the parking pad next to Chuck’s garage behind his house. For the entire drive Castiel focuses on finding and eradicating every ounce of the anger left over from seeing Meg again. It’s toxic.

Chuck answers the back door after the third kick to it. He’s dressed in much the same way as the first time Castiel met him, but the bags under his eyes are darker than they were before. It looks like he hasn’t showered in a week, and he smells like it too. Dean is a dead weight at Castiel’s side and the bag with the tablet is hanging heavily on the same arm he has wrapped around Dean’s back. Chuck takes one look at the both of them and steps out of the way to let them through.

Dean is still completely unresponsive when Castiel lays him out on the couch. His limbs are heavy and his head lolls almost comically as Castiel rearranges him to be comfortable on the cushions. Chuck watches from the entry into the kitchen, hovering around the chair in front of the computer and rubbing at his arms nervously.

“You gonna tell me what happened to him?” He asks as Castiel clears a space to sit on the floor with his back to the couch. “Or why you’re back already?”

Castiel doesn’t bother answering him. He’ll hear everything when he tells Sam and Balthazar over the phone. The line picks up after the first ring and Castiel knows he’s on speaker when he can hear them both start asking questions at the same time.

“What happened?”

“Why did you go back to Chuck’s?”

“Cassie, did you find a tablet?”

“Why are we supposed to be hiding?”

“Are you okay? Cassie, _say something_.”

He clears his throat and they both fall silent. Castiel tells them in short, quick words about everything that happened with Vaniah in the cave, about the tablet and how it got broken. At the mention of the tablet, Chuck crosses the room to the bag where Castiel dumped it on a chair and he starts poking through it. Sam makes an angry noise when Castiel recounts everything that Vaniah said. Balthazar starts swearing at the mention of Meg, though he stops rather quickly when Castiel talks over him and details her _offer_.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sam hisses. “Like we would _ever_ even –”

“Dean flew me _and_ the car away from that ambush.” Castiel cuts him off. Worry is folding tight in his chest and he pushes it down. He can’t let them know how frazzled he feels right now. “He passed out almost right away and he’s – he’s _sleeping_ on the couch now. Is he okay, Sam? Aside from the other day and today Dean hasn’t used his powers much, but Vaniah said that he’s Falling faster than expected.”

Silence meets him for a few moments before Sam starts hesitantly. “I – I don’t know, Cas. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t be able to tell even if I was there. We’ve warded ourselves from being sensed by other angels – and that includes how much grace we have left. You’ll have to ask him when he wakes up.” Sam sighs and Castiel can hear a tapping noise in the background – like the keys on his laptop. “If he hasn’t been using it, he should be like me. I haven’t been using it at all besides the automatic things, so I have enough reserved for another few months.”

Castiel tilts his forehead to his knees and keeps trying to focus away from that burning knot of _fear_ in his chest. All Dean has used his mojo for is to get wifi on the laptop long enough to access information they want or need while on the road. He hasn’t been doing anything else that Castiel can think of that would be beyond the automatic things his grace takes care of.

“How am I supposed to read this?” Chuck interrupts Castiel’s thoughts and the phone call. He’s gesturing limply at the bag and the pieces of the tablet resting on top of it. “I’m not getting any kind of reaction to it like I did the first one.”

“Did you hear that?” Castiel asks, hoping Sam might be able to offer some kind of suggestion.

“I wish I knew, Cas.” Sam says sadly. “But information about the tablets is bare at best. Try gluing the pieces together or something? Chuck is the prophet. The tablets are _meant_ for him. He should be able to fix it somehow.”

When Castiel repeats what he said, Chuck scoffs and picks up the two pieces. “What am I gonna do? Push them together and hope they’ll stick?” He demonstrates and Castiel holds his breath as the crack between the pieces suddenly starts to glow.

“Oh.” Chuck breathes in surprise, looking down at the now whole tablet in his hands. “Are you guys _sure_ I’m not a god? Because that was pretty godly right there.”

“Problem solved?” Balthazar asks hopefully.

Castiel can feel himself relaxing slightly. He’d be able to relax more if Dean wasn’t unconscious behind him. He’s never been asleep before except for when he put himself in that trance to protect Castiel after their bond was made. It’s worrying – _terrifying_ – and Castiel wants to shake him awake. He wants to beg Dean to be alright and for that to be _truth_.

“More or less.” He informs them, watching Chuck mutter to himself as he takes the tablet to the kitchen table to start pouring over it. “Are you two somewhere safe?”

“I took us to a new town and a new motel. We’ve warded it and we’re as safe as safe can be.” Sam assures him. “Now that we know that the demons are after us, we’ll have to be more careful.”

Balthazar huffs and grumbles in the background. “We’re going to have to wait around until the dumbass has woken up, aren’t we?”

Castiel rubs a hand over his face and looks over at his shoulder. Dean is still pale, but he looks like he’s sleeping – like he’s at peace. He can’t help stretching his arm out along the front of the couch, seeking Dean’s hand where it rests on the cushions. Linking their fingers together grounds him and Castiel closes his eyes, breathing deeply and focusing on that touch alone to center himself and forget all the rest of his problems.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes, then.” Balthazar sighs. “Let us know when we can get moving. You know I don’t like sticking around in one place too long when it isn’t home.”

Something lurches in Castiel’s chest and he squeezes Dean’s hand tightly. “I know. I’ll call you as soon as he’s awake and we’ll figure out what we’re going to do then.”

“Do you want us to come there?” Sam offers quietly. “I don’t mind using part of my mojo for that.”

“No, it’s fine.” Castiel shakes his head even though they can’t see him. “Save it for something important.” He doesn’t want to say what he really means. He doesn’t want to think about anyone needing to be brought back from the brink of death again.

Castiel ends the call not long after that. He doesn’t know what to do. Dean is asleep and Chuck is focused on the new tablet. Now all he’s left with are his thoughts and he keeps cycling back to Vaniah, and Meg, and that queasy homesick feeling filling his stomach and chest. He feels overwhelmed – like he’s drowning.

If he was at the Church and someone came to him with a problem like this, Castiel would tell them to pray. It used to help him before his faith had started to fail. It’s what he had done when he started believing in God and His angels again after he met Dean and when he was most confused about his feelings for him. Castiel prayed then, why shouldn’t he pray now?

He twists around onto his knees to kneel in front of the couch. His coat feels bulky and heavy. He removes it and carefully places it over Dean to keep him warm while he sleeps. Castiel stays on his knees and he holds Dean’s hand between his, pressing his fingers to his forehead. This familiar position, one that he’s known his entire life, calms him. For several minutes, all Castiel does is breathe in the scent of Dean and the musty air of Chuck’s home.

When he starts to pray, Castiel asks for guidance. He knows better than to ask for help with the apocalypse, or asking to be allowed to go home again. There’s too much for them to do to be able to do that any time soon and he knows what is and isn’t possible. He knows what he _has_ to do, but he needs the help in doing it. Castiel is only human and he’s worried – he’s scared that he isn’t strong enough to do what needs to be done.

He prays until Chuck interrupts him with a cautious tap to his shoulder and a stuttering query about dinner. When the food arrives, Castiel barely tastes it. He eats on automatic and everything he ordered for Dean goes untouched, ending up in the fridge later. The rest of Castiel’s day is spent pacing the room, checking on Dean to make sure that he’s okay, and blindly surfing the internet.

Chuck keeps jumping from looking over the tablet to writing on the computer. He and Castiel don’t have much to say to each other. Castiel doesn’t want to bother him when he already has so much on his plate and he’s not entirely interested in reading everything that Chuck has seen about him in his visions. And if Chuck had anything important to tell him about those, he would have said something by now.

Dean sleeps through the night, but Castiel doesn’t. He tries to keep himself busy by contacting his hacker associate, Frank, to fix the border patrol’s computers to show that he never left the country. It doesn’t take nearly as long as Castiel thought it would. Talking with Frank never takes long no matter what the problem is. Sometimes that’s a good thing. Right now, it isn’t.

Castiel needs a distraction. He needs to keep his mind preoccupied and there just aren’t enough things here for that. Nothing much keeps his attention through the night. No matter how hard he tries to force the worries out of his head, they keep coming back and digging themselves in deeper.

Even Chuck doesn’t stay awake all night. He mumbles to himself while he works on the tablet, while he writes, and while he drinks. Chuck drinks until he stumbles upstairs, muttering about going to sleep. At one point, he does mention a spare bedroom, but Castiel has no use for it. He’s not going to leave Dean’s side for more than a bathroom break until he’s certain that Dean is okay.

As soon as Chuck has disappeared upstairs, Castiel looks at the mess of notes left strewn across the kitchen table and half covering the tablet. None of the chicken scratch makes any sense. There are half written and crossed out words, or full sentences that seem to have nothing to do with anything. Castiel gives up before he looks beyond the second page.

Chuck is up at dawn and he doesn’t look any better than when he went to sleep. He looks surprised to find Castiel and Dean still in his living room and he shifts nervously, pulling his house coat closer around himself. “I thought – Sorry. Did you sleep?”

“No.” Castiel looks up from the book he got from his bag. It’s been a poor distraction since he gave up on Chuck’s notes. “You’re up early.”

“Too many visions.” He shrugs and stumbles to his desk. “I’ve got to get them out of my head before they start to hurt. There’s coffee in the cupboard if you want some.”

Castiel never says no to coffee. He makes sure that enough is made for Chuck too. Dean hasn’t moved at all during the night, sleeping soundly under the trench coat. As he draws out drinking his coffee for as long as he can, Castiel watches him sleep. All his worries are background noise now. They’re building up under the net he’s trapped them under, but at least now he can function without being completely distracted by them.

When Dean finally wakes up, it’s close to noon. He sits up with a groan and rubs a hand over his face, blinking blearily around the room until he focuses on Castiel. “Wha’ happened?”

“You passed out after you flew us almost to Chuck’s house. That was yesterday.” Castiel gets up to sit down in the space Dean leaves open on the couch. Without thinking, he reaches up to feel Dean’s forehead and neck. Unsurprisingly there hasn’t been any change in his physical temperature. “How are you feeling?”

Dean looks down at his lap and Castiel’s coat where it fell when he sat up, frowning at it as if he can’t figure out what it’s doing there. “I’m – I think I’m tired.” He sounds shocked and he looks up at Castiel with wide eyes. “Is this what being tired feels like? No wonder you drink so much coffee.”

The first smile Castiel has had in hours pulls up the corners of his mouth and it’s cathartic. Even if he’s feeling tired, if Dean is well enough to be making jokes then he must be okay. For the first time in a day, Castiel feels himself relax more than he has in weeks and he wants to sag into Dean’s side. He wants to leech from Dean the comforting feeling that he gives him. Castiel wants to wrap himself around Dean and feel his wings fold around them both – a shield from the world and everything going wrong with it.

“Hey.” Dean says suddenly and Castiel’s attention focuses solely on him again. He reaches up to mirror how Castiel still has his hand on Dean’s neck. The cross of Dean’s rosary rests against Castiel’s collarbone and Dean’s thumb brushes his jaw gently. “You doing okay? Did you have nightmares last night?”

Castiel leans into Dean’s hand and his eyes slide shut of their own volition. “No, I didn’t – I couldn’t sleep. I’m fine.” He tries for a small smile, hoping it doesn’t look very tired. “We have leftovers if you want some.”

For a moment, Castiel hopes that Dean says he doesn’t. If Dean doesn’t want anything to eat, then he’s not hungry. It’s the presence of _hunger_ that scares Castiel. Hunger would be just another sign of how far Dean has Fallen. At the same time he hopes Dean says he does want it. Castiel can’t remember the last time Dean said no to food.

Dean brushes Castiel’s cheek with his thumb again before he stands up and tosses both their coats over the back of the couch. “Show me the grub.”

While Dean demolishes the leftover Thai food like nothing ever happened, he leans over Chuck’s shoulder to watch him tap away at the tablet. “You’ve had it half a day, right? How long til you know what this one is about?”

Chuck nearly jumps out of his skin, turning around so quickly that Dean is the only thing keeping his chair from falling over. He looks up at Dean with wide, sunken eyes as if he’s surprised to see that he’s awake. Maybe he was too focused on the tablet and didn’t hear them talking.

“You’re – oh, yes. Um.” He scrambles to pick up all the papers his nearly illegible notes are written on, shaking them at Dean. “I don’t know for sure just yet, but it’s – um. It’s got something to do with hell. I can tell you that much.”

“Y’hear that, Cas?” Dean turns to him with a wide grin. “It’s about hell! That’s a step in the right direction, at least!” He laughs and shoves a few more forkfuls of food into his mouth. “This is great!”

It’s some good news, finally, but Castiel can’t bring himself to be as happy about it as Dean is. He feels numb inside. Castiel is happy Dean is awake and well. He’s happy that they’re making progress with the tablets. But there’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that something bad is going to happen and it’s going to happen soon. Really, it’s only a matter of time now that both the angels and the demons know about their plans.

Before they leave Chuck in the early afternoon, Castiel borrows the bathroom for a hot shower while Dean takes the chance to explain the current situation. Chuck is very skittish and nervous as they’re going out the door. He’s rummaging through the kitchen cupboards and Castiel has the sneaking suspicion that he’s going to spend the rest of the day drinking. Dean confirms as much once they’re on the road.

“Drinking like it’s how he breathes.” Dean sighs, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music on the radio. “He’s going to need one hell of a vacation when this is all said and done. We’re _all_ going to need one. Is there anywhere you’d want to go?”

“Home.” Castiel says softly, sliding down in his seat to prop his knees against the dash. “When this is done and if we’re alive, I just want to go home.” He sighs and closes his eyes as he leans his head against the window.

Dean’s hand closes over his on the seat between them, squeezing gently. “What’s wrong, Cas?”

Castiel briefly contemplates lying before he decides against it. Maybe if he finally talks about all this he’ll feel better – less numb, less _hopeless_. “Everything, Dean. Everything is wrong.” He grips Dean’s hand harder, desperate for that little bit of relief he gets just from touching him. “Vaniah knows. The demons know. How long is it going to be before all of heaven knows about our plan and Zachariah comes after us again? We can’t hold them all off when we’re on the move like this.”

“Vaniah isn’t going to tell Zach. He’s too proud for that.” Dean reminds him. “I told you that already. And the demons know better than to tell him too. They’re working together _against_ each other. It’s a war, Cas and the demons want _us_ on their side. If they sell us out, they’re gonna be fucked just as hard as we’ll be.”

That alleviates _some_ of Castiel’s fears, but there’s still more eating away at his insides. “What about what Vaniah said – that you’re Falling faster than expected? Should you have passed out after transporting us like that? Sam said he’s got plenty of mojo left. Shouldn’t you be the same?”

His silence is nearly palpable and Castiel finally looks at him, squeezing his fingers slightly. “Dean?”

“Vaniah’s right.” Dean doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “I’m further along than Sam is.”

Castiel sits up properly in his seat, twisting to face Dean more. “How? To my knowledge you haven’t been using yours very often. When have you –”

“Every night.” He cuts in, letting go of Castiel’s hand to grip the wheel as he makes a U-turn.

“Every –” The words choke him and Castiel’s brain stutters around trying to accept this explanation. “What were you doing every night that you risked using your abilities when you should have been saving them for an emergency?”

Dean’s lips press together into a thin line and he glances at Castiel out of the corner of his eye. He licks his lips and takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself. “You. I’ve been using them on you.”

The world goes very quiet and Castiel sucks in a sharp breath. He stares at Dean across the seat, not paying any sort of attention to their surroundings as they pull out onto the interstate. At first he’s confused – unable to think of what he would possibly need Dean’s power for at night. But then he remembers the first questions Dean asked when he woke up earlier.

“My nightmares.” He breathes softly, caught between being touched by Dean’s consideration and being enraged by his stupidity. “You’ve been helping me sleep.”

“You needed it.” Dean shrugs.

Castiel shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. You need to save your grace for an _emergency_. My nightmares do _not_ fall into that category.”

“You _did_.” He says firmly, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he grits his teeth. “I don’t sleep, Cas. Not yet. The third time we slept together, you started twitching a few hours into it. Then you started making noises like you were hurting. I figured out what was happening, and I couldn’t just sit there and watch you in pain like that. It didn’t take a whole lot to stop the nightmare and keep you sleeping.”

“And thank you for that, it was very thoughtful – but you shouldn’t have done it _every night_.”

Dean shrugs again. “You don’t even sleep properly when you _don’t_ have nightmares.” He sighs and glances at Castiel again. “I just wanted to help, Cas. I know it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but I wanna keep helping you while I can. Even if it means I’m gonna lose the ability to do the fancy shit sooner than we hoped.”

“You’re impossible.” Castiel huffs, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. He knows it’s pointless to fight with Dean about this. It’s already been done. There’s no way to get Dean’s powers back now that they’ve been used. “I appreciate what you did, but you need to stop it now. I’ve had nightmares for most of my life. I don’t like them, but I’m used to them. You need to save what you have left of your powers while you can for something more important than that, Dean.”

“So the next time you have a nightmare, I’m just supposed to grin and bear it?” He mutters, gripping the steering wheel until it creaks under his hands. “I can’t do that, Cas.”

“Then wake me up.” Castiel says flatly. It’s the most obvious answer, really. “It’s better than letting me have the nightmare and we can just go back on the road.”

Dean sighs and slouches a little further down in his seat. He doesn’t say anything, but the muscles in his jaw tighten more. Castiel watches and waits. If Dean doesn’t promise that he won’t do it anymore, well – he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. There are various ways Castiel could punish him, but they’re part punishment for himself too.

“Fine.” It’s one word on a hiss, and Dean doesn’t look happy about it. “ _Fine_.”

“Good.” Castiel reaches out to touch his shoulder gently. “Thank you for what you’ve done so far, but we might need your powers one day and it’ll be better to save them for it. My nightmares are nothing to what we’ll have to deal with in the future.”

Dean snorts and gives Castiel a withering look, but he doesn’t disagree. Instead, he turns the music up and switches it to a hard rock station. Castiel settles back in his seat, glad to know at least a few things have been worked out. He’s still feeling that odd mix of appreciation and upset. It’s nice to know that Dean cares about him so much that he’s willing to waste his powers to help him sleep better at night, but it was exactly that – _a waste_.

Castiel falls asleep before they’ve even left the state. The rumble of the tires on the road and all his worries that Dean has settled makes it an easy thing to do. Especially when Dean takes his hand again and the constant stroke his of thumb along the side of Castiel’s hand is hypnotic. He sleeps through the day and wakes up part way through the night when Sam calls. That’s when Castiel realizes that he forgot to give them a call when Dean woke up.

Of course Sam and Balthazar aren’t pleased to hear they were forgotten, or that Dean has been using his powers for anything more than fighting the war. But they’re rather happy to be allowed to leave their motel as long as they start being more cautious. It’s going to be difficult, considering everyone has already been very careful with everything they’ve done so far.

The sun comes with coffee and bagels from a road side gas station, and to Castiel’s dismay it also brings with it the beginning of a series of phone calls from the contractors working on the Church. According to them, there are complications with the dividing property lines between the Church and the rectory. All that means is more stress and a nearly physical pain in Castiel’s neck.

It takes two days and dozens of calls for Castiel to finally give up on trying to get them to agree to rebuild the Church like before so the rectory could be attached. And in between the phone calls, whenever they stop to eat or sleep or put gas in the car, they keep catching wind of possible hunts. And that only slows them down in their journey south.

With an irritated, weary sigh, Castiel closes the phone after his last call of the day. He flops back across the bed and throws his arm over his eyes. “I give up.”

Dean’s chair squeaks at the table as he turns to look at him. “They finally wear you out?”

“It’ll just be easier to build the rectory separate now. I was present when the Church was first built and helped with it since I was doing the rectory at the same time.” He grumbles, throwing the phone aside and rubbing his hands over his face. “Now that I’m not there, it’s too much of a bother for them to deviate from the plan and add a door for a hall that isn’t going to be built for _months_. And now they want to build a _fence_ on the property line.”

“Poor thing.” His laughter echoes in the room and Castiel is tempted to mimic one of Balthazar’s often used gestures and flip Dean his middle finger. When he does that, Dean laughs even harder and it takes him a few minutes to calm down again.

“Hey, but isn’t that a good thing? It’s better for the Church and your house to be separated now that Sammy and I are gonna be living there too, right?”

Castiel rolls over onto his stomach and drags a pillow down to prop his chin on it. Of course it would be easier for them if the rectory was set apart from the Church. But it would have been nice to keep a connecting hall to it for convenience’s sake. It’s taken so long to work everything out with the contractors that Castiel has felt even more stressed out over the last few days than he has been in weeks. His head hurts and his shoulders feel tense.

“Want me to get you a beer?” Dean calls across the room to him. “Or a back massage?”

That latter option is extremely tempting, but Dean hasn’t showered in days and Castiel can tell. He hasn’t mentioned anything about the light stubble he’s developing either. Dean barely has a five o’clock shadow, but it’s still there. Still _growing._ Still entirely _human_. Castiel can feel it when they kiss. It’s an interesting feeling and he doesn’t mind it, but it serves as a reminder that Dean is Falling – even though he promises he hasn’t used his powers since Castiel told him to stop.

“C’mon, Cas.” The bed dips as Dean puts a knee on it next to him. His fingers slide up Castiel’s spine, dragging at his night shirt and chasing a shivering thrill. “How about a back rub?”

Dean has been consistent with pushing Castiel’s boundaries. For the last few nights, Castiel’s been going to sleep with Dean’s hand resting on his stomach under his shirt. His offer for a back rub is just another tentative, careful push.

Castiel takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, turning to rest his cheek on the pillow. “Maybe after you take a shower.”

“Then I’ll be right back.” He leans down and drops a kiss to the back of Castiel’s neck before the bed springs squeak and the bathroom door clicks shuts.

The water has been running in the shower for several minutes when Castiel’s phone rings again. His knee jerk reaction to the ancient ring tone is to flinch from it. He groans and lifts his head, flipping the phone over to see the name on the call display. _Sam_. Castiel breathes a sigh of relief. At least it’s not the contractors or the Church again.

Sam doesn’t wait for a ‘hello’. He starts talking almost before the phone is to Castiel’s ear. “Balthazar went to get booze at the store around the corner thirty minutes ago and he hasn’t come back yet. I can’t reach him on his phone and I’m on my way there now.”

Castiel pushes up sharply, twisting on the bed to sit properly. Any thought of relaxing is discarded as his heart starts beating hard enough he almost doesn’t hear Sam’s request that he try calling Balthazar too. A tight knot forms at the base of Castiel’s throat. He doesn’t remember telling Sam that he’ll do it, or even ending that call. The next thing he knows, he’s holding a ringing phone to his ear again.

His heart stops at the voice that answers. “How’s it shaking, Clarence?”

“ _Meg_.” Castiel hisses, jumping to his feet. “Where’s Balthazar?”

“Listen close, Clarence. I’m only saying this once.” Meg drawls and Castiel can hear the smile in her voice. “This is quite the interesting gun your brother has, you know? It does a hell of a number on demons. I lost three lieutenants to it. How well do you think it works on humans?”

His stomach lurches and the pounding of his heart nearly drowns out the words that just barely manage to choke past his lips. “If you –”

“I said _listen_.” She snaps, an edge taking to her voice. “I’m going to text you a location and you’ll have forty-eight hours to meet us there – _with_ all the tablets you’ve got. Do that and you’ll get him back unharmed. If you’re not there when the clock strikes midnight, I’m going to start cutting bits off your brother for every hour that you’re late. I think I’ll start with the fun stuff. ” Her laughs sounds tinny over the phone line. “See you soon, Clarence.”

The call ends and Castiel is left standing in the middle of the room with the phone beeping in his ear. He stares blankly at the wall, his mind screaming yet silent all at the same time. His heart beats a violent tempo against his ribs and breathing feels like it isn’t even an option anymore. Castiel isn’t even aware that the shower is no longer running until Dean’s voice cuts through the storm in his head.

“Cas? What’s wrong?”

Something snaps. Something deep inside Castiel fractures and falls apart in a thousand, million, billion pieces and red burns the edges of his vision as his phone shatters against the wall.


	15. Explosive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concern lines Dean’s voice and he squeezes Castiel’s shoulder. “What about the tablets? Cas, what the hell are you talking about?” Dean kneels next to him when Castiel’s answer is nothing more than sharp, ragged breaths. “Hey, c’mon Cas. Just breathe and tell me what’s going on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Pappcave's Reverse!Verse](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/Papp%27s-reverse%21verse). Papp has written a few things for it already (found at the link above) - part of Castiel's past included. 
> 
> And he was nice enough to do extra art for this fic too! Go give him some love!
> 
>  
> 
> **Updates the 15th and 30th of every month until the story is complete. And no, I'm sorry, I don't know how long it will be.**
> 
>  
> 
> **For chapter statuses and information, please[check here.](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hunting+for+faith)**

It’s like the very air hurts. Castiel stares at the broken mess of his phone on the floor and every breath feels like needles in his lungs. Dean is standing at the edge of his vision, confusion and worry filling his face. His shirt is in his hands and there’s still water in his hair. He doesn’t hold Castiel’s attention for long. Castiel can’t look away from his phone. _The phone_.

Dean clears his throat. “Why did you –?”

“No.” Castiel gasps, cutting him off as he drops to his knees. He picks up a few of the broken pieces. “Oh no, no, no, _no_.”

“Cas?” There’s a hand on his shoulder and it feels too heavy, a weight pressing him into the carpet. “Why’d you break your phone?”

“I _need_ this.” He hisses, uselessly pressing the pieces together as every breath gets harder and harder. “She’s going to text me the location. We need that - _I_ need that. It’s the only way to know where to take the tablets.”

Concern lines Dean’s voice and he squeezes Castiel’s shoulder. “What about the tablets? Cas, what the hell are you talking about?” Dean kneels next to him when Castiel’s answer is nothing more than sharp, ragged breaths. “Hey, c’mon Cas. Just breathe and tell me what’s going on.”

Castiel shakes his head and tries picking up more of the pieces. “I need this. I _need_ this. Balthazar is – he’s – I won’t be able to get to him without this. _I need it_.”

Dean takes the pieces from him and Castiel grabs for them. He can’t let Dean take them away. Castiel needs to fix the phone so he can have the location. What if she’s already sent it? What if he’s missed it because he was stupid enough to just _react_? He doesn’t even know what he reacted to. Everything feels like a haze around him. There’s a red mist hanging on the edges of his vision and all he can think about is how he failed Balthazar because he let his anger take control.

Before Castiel realizes what’s happening, Dean presses his phone into his hands – whole and new again. “Here – _now_ will you calm down?”

It’s certainly easier to breathe. Castiel flips the phone open and scrolls through the messages. There’s nothing new in his inbox and the last call received is still Sam and Castiel’s call to Balthazar’s cell phone is still the last one outgoing. He gets to his feet and Dean copies him, following him as he starts pacing back and forth. Meg was supposed to text him by now, wasn’t she? What if he missed the message because the phone is broken? What if he’s completely lost his brother because of this.

Castiel can’t lose Balthazar. He’s the only family he has left. Anna will always be considered a sister, but he purposefully keeps their contact to a minimum rather than risk dragging her into this world. Now that he knows where it’s leading, the last thing he wants to do is bring angels and demons and the whole _apocalypse_ to her doorstep. Uriel is the only other of his orphanage brothers that’s still alive, but he can’t remember the last time that they spoke. But Balthazar – _Balthazar_ is the only person from his past who knows this world and stays with him through it all. He was even in this world _before_ Castiel.

_He can’t lose him._

Dean grabs his arm and pulls him to a stop. “For the love of – Cas, what the hell is going on? What did I miss while I was in the frikken _shower_?”

The phone beeps loudly before Castiel can give any kind of answer. He holds his breath and his hands shake while he opens the message. An address is splayed across the screen and Castiel pushes past Dean to the laptop. After a quick search, he determines that the address is a few states away.

“ _Cas_.” Dean says his name firmly, grabbing his arm again and pulling him from the computer. “What the hell is going on? Could you take two seconds to actually _talk_ tome?”

“We need to go.” Castiel turns to him sharply, his breath coming in short, quick bursts. He’s too worked up to stop and think about the sweat on Dean’s temples and how under the fading flush from the shower he’s pale. “We need to go to Chuck’s right now. I have to get the tablets and take them there.” He gestures at the laptop and the map still showing the location.

Dean frowns at him, eyebrows pinching together. “Yeah, okay. I’ve figured out that much. But _why_? Who are you taking them to?”

“ _Meg_.” He hisses, the name like poison on his tongue as he turns on Dean again and shoves him away. “She has _Balthazar_. We have forty-eight hours to get to _that_ address with the tablets to get him back safely. If we’re late, she’s going to start hurting him.” His voice breaks and he takes another shuddering breath. “She _took_ my _brother_ , Dean.”

If there’s anything that’s going to convince Dean to go ahead with this, it’s that.

The blood drains from Dean’s face. “How did she – is Sam –?”

Castiel pushes past him again, barely noticing how Dean staggers back a few steps. He grabs their bags from the floor and starts shoving what few things they had lying around into them. “Sam’s fine. Meg grabbed Balthazar while he was on a booze run.” If he gets him back, Castiel will make sure Balthazar never drinks again.

When he turns around, Castiel is surprised to find Dean still standing with his shirt in his hand. He’s made no effort to finish getting dressed or even to put on his shoes and coat. Doesn’t he understand how urgent this is? Dean knows how important family is. Time is of the essence here and if he flies them to Chuck’s place with the car, they’ll have enough time for him to recover on the drive from Chuck’s to Meg’s location. Which means they need to leave and they need to leave _now_.

“ _Dean_.” He says firmly, his chest constricting around every breath. His body feels tight and the air still feels like it’s pressing in all around him. “Get dressed. We have to leave now. If we go straight to Chuck’s, we can be at the drop location in under twenty-four hours.”

The wide-eyed, apologetic look Dean gives him is completely unexpected and it keeps Castiel from turning away to finish packing. “What? What is it, Dean?”

“I can’t, Cas. I’m sorry.” He whispers, looking down at the shirt in his hands. “I don’t have the juice to do a jump like that anymore. I wouldn’t be able to take you, me, _and_ the impala.” Dean shifts on his feet. “I’m not even sure if I can do it on my own to get the tablets _and_ come back for you. That might wipe me just as bad as before.”

Castiel knows that he shouldn’t be upset that Dean is Falling. They’ve already talked about this before and he’s well aware – especially after the events of the last few days – that Dean’s powers have dwindled exponentially. But the rage that bubbles in his chest is blinded from that. The only thought that echoes in his mind is that their problem right now is _exactly_ why Dean shouldn’t have wasted his powers on him every night.

“I _told_ you.” He hisses, the words leaving his lips before Castiel even realizes it. “You should have saved your powers like you were supposed to. _This_ is more important - Balthazar’s _life_ is more important than any good night’s sleep.”

Dean flinches from him and guilt joins the regret in his expression. Castiel wants to apologize, but now they’re going to lose precious hours having to _drive_ back to Chuck’s. If they encounter any unexpected delays, they might not make it in time and Castiel can’t – he _can’t_ take that risk.

Anger and fear and a seething, dark mass pushes out to all his edges. Castiel tries to ignore it. He needs to focus on the task at hand and the first step is getting the tablets. Maybe Sam has enough power to come and take him to Chuck’s at the very least. There’s a car in Chuck’s garage. He could easily use that to drive from there to the drop. Dean doesn’t need to come with him. Or Dean could simply jump himself there. He said he could manage one jump on his own, right? Does he want to face Meg and whatever demons she has on his own without Dean?

But splitting up is bad. Splitting up is what got Balthazar caught in the first place. Castiel doesn’t want to leave Dean here alone and risk someone else – Vaniah, Zachariah, Alistair, _anyone_ – taking Dean just because he wasn’t able to think beyond how Meg has Balthazar. It’s hard, though. The last time Meg was alone with his family, the first seal was broken and almost everyone he held close to his heart was taken from him by _her_ hands.

The thought that he might never see Balthazar again terrifies Castiel so badly he doesn’t hear Dean’s first apology, or even the second. He only notices that Dean is beside him again and speaking soft words of regret when a hand is placed gently on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Cas. About Balthazar, about everything. Sam and me – we’re gonna do everything in our power to help you get him back. I promise.”

A dry laugh shakes from his throat and Castiel shrugs Dean’s hand away. “What good are your apologies? They’re not going to get us to the tablets or Meg. They’re not going to get you your powers back after you _wasted_ them on me.”

The words are like barbs and they taste like blood on his tongue. They’re meant to hurt Dean and Castiel knows he shouldn’t – that Dean was only trying to help him and he had no way of foreseeing these events. But that sick mess inside of him is screaming in his head. It’s screaming words that he knows aren’t right; words that wouldn’t make any sense if he stopped and thought them through.

“It’s your fault.” He breathes and Dean goes still next to him.

“My fault?” Dean looks surprised. He looks hurt and confused, and Castiel feels sick for being the one who put that expression on his face. “How is it my – Balthazar getting his ass caught isn’t _my_ fault. I know it would be better if I had my powers, Cas, but I’m not apologizing for how I used them.”

It’s like his voice has a mind all its own. Castiel’s thoughts are trapped in imagining what Meg might do to Balthazar if he doesn’t get there in time, but his tongue continues to spill these angry words that he doesn’t believe in. They’re not his true feelings and he would never say them if he wasn’t so – scared, worried, angry, _sick_. It’s just words, but they’re words meant to hurt and he can see how each one drives Dean back up a step.

With the air in the room crushing him, Castiel lays blame after blame on Dean – as if he’s trying to make him hurt as much as he does. But Castiel doesn’t _want_ to hurt him. He wants to hurt Meg, not _Dean_. But she isn’t here and Dean is. It is, perhaps, unfortunate timing for the gates holding back all that stress he’s had building up over the last few weeks to break – and Dean is the only one around for Castiel to unleash it all on. He doesn’t really mean the words he’s saying, but he’s still saying them and he doesn’t quite understand _why_. All he understands is that for each word he says, that dark anger in his chest aches just a little less.

Castiel blames Dean – and Sam – for why he had to leave his home. He blames them for this mess with the tablets and for every time he’s nearly died. He blames them for every death of the town’s people from Flanagan, possessed and smote against their will. He blames them for why _nothing_ in his life is even remotely normal anymore and for how he feels like he’s lost at sea without any kind of guide.

Not even God can really guide him in this, can He? An absent God who may or may not be giving Castiel signs on what he should be doing. Where’s a sign now? If God wanted him to leave the Church to search for the tablets, why would He let Meg take Balthazar? Why are they having all these hiccups in their plans? What role does God play in all of this? Maybe Dean was right. Maybe everything before was merely a coincidence and God has never been a part of this, aside from granting him a return to life.

His voice finally breaks and Castiel stops. He collapses under the weight on him and staggers back a step until he can sit on the edge of the bed and hold his head in his hands. Castiel didn’t mean any of those words, at least not like _that_. It’s certainly because Dean and Sam came into his life that all those things happened, but he’s come to terms with them. He wouldn’t trade a single moment for anything – not even if it meant having his normal life back. Castiel loves Dean, and Sam is like another brother to him. Nothing would ever make him give them up too.

There’s nothing but their breathing filling the silence in the room after he stops talking. For a few moments, neither one of them says anything. That quiet is broken by the text tone of Castiel’s phone and he flinches at the sound. He fumbles for it, half hidden under one of the bags. It’s a message from Balthazar’s cell and a lump rises in Castiel’s throat. What could Meg be texting him about now?

_With all that booze he drinks, do you think he’ll bleed blood or brandy? Tick tock, Clarence._

Red sears across his vision and his next breath chokes him. Castiel _knows_ she’s messing with him now. Meg loves to play mind games. She used to do it to manipulate the children into competitions all the time on the playground outside the orphanage. Now she’s just trying to work him up. She’s trying to make him angry, to make him lash out.

If only it wasn’t so effective.

By the time he stops and realizes what he’s done, the red having left his vision, their bags and half the contents are scattered across the floor. The mattress on one of the beds has nearly been shoved clean off and the lamp from the bedside table is missing. At least this time he didn’t throw the phone too. Dean is still standing by the table. He hasn’t moved.  

It’s the red on his arm that catches Castiel’s attention. The shattered remains of the lamp are on the floor behind Dean, exactly where they fell when he threw it. One of the shards is stuck in Dean’s arm. A thin trail of blood is sneaking along the outside curve of his elbow, sliding down toward his wrist. Dean doesn’t seem to have noticed – not until Castiel stares at it long enough for him to look too.

“Oh.” He murmurs, reaching up to pull it out.

The shard isn’t much bigger than a twenty-five cent coin but to Castiel it looks like a dagger. He _hurt_ Dean. Not just with words, but physically too. After the time he accidentally shot him, Castiel had sworn to himself that he would never hurt Dean again. Even if this is an accident too, he still made Dean bleed. Castiel should have better control over himself than this. It doesn’t matter if he’s been frayed raw at the edges from everything that’s been going on. At least he should be able to control himself enough to keep Dean safe in all of this.

Dean drops the piece of the lamp and he rubs his thumb over the cut it leaves behind, wiping the blood away. Within moments, more wells to the surface, following the same path down his arm as the other. Castiel feels numb as he watches Dean wipe the spot clean over and over again, and it doesn’t heal. Has he Fallen so far that his vessel won’t heal from such a minor wound?

This is _his_ fault. Castiel did this and the thought makes his knees feel weak – a knot forming in his stomach like he’s going to be sick; fear tightening in his chest and making it too hard to breathe. He hurt Dean _again._ All Dean wanted to do was help him and look where that got him – all of his powers have been used up to the point that it’s taking too long to heal such a little cut. Dean can’t fly even remotely as far or as many times as he was once able to. What else can’t he do any more that he’s been hiding from Castiel? Does he actually sleep at night now? When he eats, is it because he _needs_ to instead of because he _wants_ to? What about showering? Brushing his teeth?

They don’t have time for this. Castiel doesn’t have the time to worry about something they already knew was going to happen to Dean. He needs to be worried about Balthazar right now. They should be acting and moving and calling Sam for help. They should be figuring out how they’re going to give over the tablets and get Balthazar back without actually losing the tablets completely. Getting his brother back is their priority, but Castiel at least has enough of his wits about him still to know that letting Meg get away with the tablets would cost them a great deal.

That sick feeling only gets worse. Castiel can’t think, can’t breathe. He’s angry, and scared, and confused and everything is so overwhelming right now he feels like he’s drowning. What is he supposed to do? Castiel feels like he’s being pulled in so many directions and he’s been stretched so thin these last few weeks. He’s only human. How is he supposed to deal with all of this? It’s frustrating – _infuriating_ – and entirely why he turns around and kicks the mattress the rest of the way off the bed. If he’s going to get out some of his frustrations, it won’t be in Dean’s direction _ever again_.

There’s a _thing_ inside him, like an oil slick spilling through his veins and clogging his lungs. Castiel hates it. He wants it out and he knows they can’t leave or figure anything else out until he’s calmed down. But his blood is pounding in his ears and he keeps _knowing_ what he needs to do and not _doing it_.

“Cas.” Dean says softly behind him shortly before Castiel knocks over the bedside table. “Cas, you’re kinda scaring me right now. Could you just come sit down, breathe for a bit, and then we can figure all this out together?”

But he can’t stop. He can’t stop grabbing the nearest things and throwing them clear across the room. Castiel can’t stop flipping the mattresses and anything he can get his hands on. This _thing_ inside of him is clawing at his insides. It’s screaming for him to hit something and Castiel doesn’t want that to be Dean. He doesn’t want to get close to him only to hurt him again. Dean has already been hurt by him too much and Castiel hates himself for it.

He isn’t expecting to turn around, looking for something else to destroy, and finding Dean _right there_. The blood on his arm is gone and the only sign of the cut is a small white line breaking the freckles on his skin. But even that is getting harder to see by the second. Dean doesn’t give Castiel a chance to react. He steps in as close as he can and his arms folds around Castiel as tightly as he imagines his wings are doing too – if the tingling along his back and shoulders is any sort of sign.

Castiel fights against the hug at first. He tries to push Dean away without outright hitting him. A hug feels claustrophobic right now. He wants to move and kick and scream and work this angry burn out of his body, but Dean is stubborn and so much stronger than him. No matter how hard Castiel fights, Dean only holds him tighter. He doesn’t say anything and just holds him until that knot in Castiel’s core just _lets go_ and leaves him feeling suddenly exhausted.

Dean takes his weight easily as Castiel sags into the hug and digs his fingers into the warm skin of his back. He presses his face into Dean’s throat and breathes deep the scent of their shared body wash and that ever present, ever familiar tang of a storm. Dean smells like home and, if anything, that helps Castiel find his calm center again. One of Dean’s hands slides into his hair, nails scraping over his scalp in a gentle massage that sends pleasing tingles down his spine. Castiel can feel his lips moving against the side of his neck when he speaks.

“We’re going to work this out, Cas.” He says softly. “We’ll get your brother back safely. But we can’t do anything until you’ve calmed down enough to get your head on straight. Y’think you can do that now? If you can’t do it for me, then do it for Balthazar. He’s the one that needs you right now. You calm down and then we’ll figure out how we’re going to deal with Meg together.”

He nods and keeps breathing. Each new breath calms the riot in Castiel’s head and the upheaval in his body. Dean’s right, of course. Castiel needs to calm down for his brother. But mentioning Meg again makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He can’t let her near anyone he cares for. She already took Father Christopher and the rest of the orphanage from him, and now she has Balthazar. What if she’s waiting with a bunch of demons for them to arrive because she wants Dean and Sam along with the tablets? This could just be one gigantic trap for them.

No. _No_. Castiel refuses to let that happen. He won’t let her get anyone else he loves.

Despite still feeling like a mess on the inside, Castiel forces himself to remain calm on the outside. Dean promised that he never looks at his soul to see his emotions. He can only hope that after his little episode, Dean is keeping to his word. A plan forms quickly like jagged puzzle pieces in his mind and Castiel lets Dean guide him to sit on the edge of the box spring.

“You feeling better?” He looks so concerned for him that Castiel feels bad for the lie he’s about to give, but he can’t risk losing Dean to Meg too. He _can’t_.

Castiel nods slowly and looks around the room, searching for the distraction he needs. “We should go. Everything we need to talk about can be done in the car.” His eyes fall on the bathroom door and all their toiletries scattered across the counter top. Dean must have dumped them out when he was looking for the shampoo and soap for his shower. Perfect.

“You should put on your shirt and clean up the bathroom. I’ll pack our bags again.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you serious?”

He doesn’t bother answering, merely leveling Dean with a stare that Castiel knows will work. It’s one that he’s used on Balthazar more times than he can count. Dean lasts only a few seconds before he concedes and pulls his shirt over his head, picking his way carefully across the floor. No sooner is he in the bathroom is Castiel off the bed and out the door, his coat in hand. There’s a spare key to the Impala on the key ring in his pocket and Castiel actually manages to get the car out of their parking spot before Dean catches up with him.

It wasn’t the best of plans, but Castiel hadn’t quite expected Dean to run out and put himself directly in front of the car. Nor did he expect him to be so quick on his feet. If this wasn’t about trying to keep Dean safe here, Castiel would hit the gas. Dean would probably get out of the way fairly quickly, but what if he doesn’t? What if he’s still angel enough to stay in the way? It might wreck the car and if one shard of a lamp could cut Dean like that, what would a car do to him?

For a few moments, they stare each other down through the windshield. Dean looks angry – his whole face thunderous and Castiel doesn’t doubt that his wings are spread aggressively. The only way out of the parking lot is through Dean and Castiel is trapped. That leaves him with one option and Castiel sighs, backing the Impala into the parking spot in front of their motel door. Dean is pulling the driver’s side door open before Castiel has finished turning the engine off. He drags Castiel out of the car by his arm. Maybe his grip would hurt if he didn’t feel so numb.

“What the hell are you _thinking_?” Dean hisses, caging Castiel against the side of the Impala. “I said we could do this _together_ , Cas. Why the _fuck_ are you leaving me behind?”

Castiel can’t look him in the eye, instead focusing on the fraying collar of Dean’s shirt. There had been so many words earlier and now that well they bubbled up from feels like it’s gone dry. His throat locks up and nothing pushes past his lips – no apologies, no explanations, _nothing_.

His silence only irritates Dean more and he grabs Castiel’s wrist, pulling him back toward the motel room. He staggers through the doorway when Dean all but throws him through it, slamming the door behind them. Castiel looks around the room and the mess he made and something inside him fractures a little more. He’s always had such good control of himself. How could he lose himself this much?

Dean doesn’t let Castiel go far, pulling him back around to face him. “We’re supposed to be a _team_. I know I’m Falling, Cas. It sucks, but it’s happening and I thought you’d accepted that. If you can’t trust me to carry my own weight without my powers backing me up, then how the _hell_ are we supposed to keep up with our job?”

He hesitates and Castiel can see his throat working over a hard swallow. “How are we supposed to be _us_ if you don’t trust me to take care of myself? You wanted me to open up, and I did. You wanted me to stop keeping so many secrets, and I did. Trust is a two-way street and I don’t know what the hell I did to make you stop believing in me.”

Castiel has no answer. He knows Dean is right, he just doesn’t want to say it. And Castiel _does_ trust him – he trusts Dean with his life, with all their lives. But he can’t risk losing him, or Sam, to Meg. It’s bad enough that she has Balthazar right now. The last thing Castiel wants is for her to have the chance to get _more_ of the people he loves. This is what he keeps coming back to and he just can’t let go of it.

After a minute of silence, Dean sighs and steps away. There’s disappointment and hurt warring in his expression. “Just – just grab what you need to do this, Cas.”

While Castiel grabs the duffle bag with their weapons – one of the few things that escaped his destruction earlier – Dean makes a phone call. “Sam? Meet us at Chuck’s. We’re leaving in a few minutes. Yeah, I mean _now_.”

They change out of their pajamas quickly and Dean leads Castiel from the room, locking the door behind them and hanging the _‘do not disturb’_ sign on the handle. They make a quick stop at the office to pay for an extra few days so they can just leave everything there. Castiel expects them to be heading back to the Impala, but Dean takes his hand and all but drags him around the corner and out of the line of sight from anyone in the establishment. Before he can ask any questions, Dean puts his hand on his shoulder.

Between one breath and the next, Castiel finds himself standing in front of Chuck’s house and it’s his turn to wrap his arms around Dean’s waist to hold him up. Dean is still conscious, but he’s breathing raggedly against Castiel’s neck and there are fine tremors shaking through his body. For the first time, Castiel wonders what the loss of his grace is doing to Dean’s wings.

“Dean?” Castiel asks quietly, hefting him to his feet. “Are you –?”

“M’okay.” He mumbles against his neck. “Not gonna pass out, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just need to sit down for a bit.”

Chuck doesn’t look at all happy to see them. It’s understandable, really. This is the second time in under a week that Castiel has arrived on his doorstep with Dean hanging off him like this. And they had promised that he would be mostly left alone during the hunt for the tablets. It seems they’ve been doing the exact opposite lately and Castiel can see how it’s fraying at Chuck’s nerves.

“Great.” Chuck grumbles, holding the door open wide enough for Castiel to half-carry, half-guide Dean into the living room. “What happened this time? Another ambush?”

“In a sense.” Castiel sighs as Dean drops heavily onto the couch with a groan.

While they wait for Sam to arrive, Castiel explains in short detail why they’re there again. It seems that Chuck hasn’t had visions of any of this yet – but it’s not like he expressly sees the future. Sometimes it’s of the present, sometimes the past, and sometimes he’ll see what has not yet come to pass. All this new information only seems to bother Chuck more and he sits opposite the couch with his head in his hands, bemoaning the mess that he’s been dragged into.

Sam arrives directly in the house instead of outside like they had. Unlike Dean, Sam seems completely unaffected by having had to fly such a far distance. He glances around the room before focusing on Dean and crossing the room to him. Dean looks tired and if he sits up, he gets dizzy. Otherwise, he’s conscious enough to be watching Castiel closely – as if he’s afraid he’ll try to run off again.

“Don’t baby me.” Dean grumbles, shoving Sam’s arm away when he sits down next to him and reaches over to touch his forehead. They share a few words in Enochian and Dean makes a face at Sam before he crosses his arms over his chest and stubbornly turns away to glare at the wall.

An itch is starting to spread under Castiel’s skin again. “Are we leaving now?”

It’s barely been an hour since Meg set the timer, but the map had said that it’s a fifteen hour drive _at least_ from here to the drop location. Even if that leaves them with thirty-two hours to spare, Castiel doesn’t trust Meg not to go back on her word and start hurting Balthazar sooner than the deadline. And he doesn’t want to leave his brother with her for any extended period of time.

“We need a plan before we can act.” Sam points out, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees. “We know for a fact that we have a hell tablet. There’s no way we can just hand that over and lose out on the possibility of sealing off hell completely.”

Castiel wants to object. He wants to demand that they go save Balthazar _immediately_ , but he’s fighting with himself to keep a firm hold on his temper. By doing that, he can keep himself calm and his head level. Because Sam is right. They can’t lose the tablets. If Castiel loses himself to his emotions again, he won’t be able to contribute to thinking of a plan. Thirty-two hours is plenty of time for them to stop and think of a plan – and to let Dean recover enough so he’ll be able to help when they make the drop.

Even so, Castiel feels on edge the entire time they sit and talk. The minutes tick by and for the first hour he manages to remain sitting on a chair, knee bouncing uncontrollably. Chuck has retreated to his computer table and he doesn’t have much to offer throughout the conversation. While Dean drifts in and out of being focused enough to participate, they’ve so far discussed the possibility of making replicas of the tablets and giving those to Meg.

It seems a decent enough plan, but do they have the time and the means to do it? What if Meg is able to recognize the differences? Castiel knows how to work wood to build things, but he’s fairly sure that creating a replica of the tablet is outside of his skill set. Sam doesn’t have the first clue about how to mold and paint clay to look like stone, and Dean has no helpful suggestions in this regard either.

When the clock starts ticking into the second hour of sitting around and just _talking_ , Castiel gets to his feet and starts pacing. “Forget the fake tablets. Unless we’re able to find an art student or someone with the talent to do it, we won’t be able to make a replica that will be able to fool Meg. She was the one who put the hell tablet in that room in the first place, after all.”

“Do you have another plan then?” Dean asks, though his eyes are closed. He has his cheek propped against his fist, elbow on the armrest of the couch.

Castiel shrugs and looks around the room for anything he could use for inspiration. His eyes drift over the bookcase and the symbols he knows are behind it. That sets off a chain reaction in his thoughts, a domino effect of conclusions and he turns to the couch sharply. “Is there a sigil to banish demons like there is for banishing angels?”

Dean opens his eyes and he looks at Castiel steadily before glancing at Sam. They share a moment of silence together before Sam shrugs and sits back. “Not that I know of. The only sigils that affect demons are devil’s traps – and I’ve done my fair share of research on ways to magically dispel them.”

None of them are expecting Chuck to turn around in his chair so quickly that he knocks over a teetering pile of papers clipped together in thick clumps. He winces and stares down at the mess before looking up at them with wide eyes. “Sorry – I – I think I have something like that.”

“A spell?” Sam is on his feet and crossing to him before Chuck can even lean down to start picking up the papers. “Did you get it from the tablet?”

“I don’t know.” Chuck starts, sitting back when Castiel takes over cleaning up the papers. “I mean – yeah, it’s from the tablet. But I don’t know if it’s really a spell? There’s a partial list of ingredients somewhere –” He rifles through a notebook on the desk before ripping out a page and handing it over to Sam. “I haven’t finished translating it yet.”

Castiel looks over Sam’s shoulder, squinting at the scrawled writing. “Does that say ‘weapon’?”

“Didn’t Charlie say something about how the tablets might hold instructions about weapons against demons, angels, or leviathan?” Dean asks from the couch, still not having moved from his spot.

“Some of these ingredients are –” Castiel takes the paper from Sam and tries reading them over. “They seem rather uncommon. Where would we even get half of these?”

Sam takes the paper back and flicks it with a finger. “I can get them. I’ve got plenty of juice to get around and find them, but if I do that then I won’t be able to take us all to the drop. We’ll have to drive.” He runs his finger along the list of ingredients. “But this isn’t the whole spell, is it?” He looks to Chuck. “How many more ingredients are there for you to translate?”

Chuck shrugs and looks down at the tablet next to his computer. “I – um, I dunno. I really don’t know.”

“Start translating again.” Castiel goes around Sam to stand next to Chuck. “Finish the spell. If we can figure out what the weapon is, maybe we can use it against Meg to save Balthazar _and_ the tablet.” He looks back over his shoulder at Dean. “How long do you need to recover?”

Dean shrugs and closes his eyes again. “A few hours?”

“Then we can afford it.” Sam steps away, going to get his coat. “I’m going to go get these things. If I’m not back by the time you translate more, just text them to me and I’ll get them all. We’ll follow the instructions, make this weapon, and hopefully that’ll give us an edge over Meg.”

He leaves without another word, vanishing in a rush of wings. Castiel is left alone with Dean and Chuck for a while after that. Sam doesn’t come back, but Castiel texts him often with every new ingredient that Chuck translates. With Castiel hovering around his chair, watching everything that he does, it’s no surprise that Chuck is working as hard as he is. He’ll have to find some way to thank Chuck for all his help after everything is over – if they’re still alive.

Dean doesn’t say much while Sam is gone. He  seems to drift in and out of focus, but he answers whenever someone asks him a question – usually if he knows what the ingredient actually is when the name makes no sense to either of them. Castiel doesn’t want to leave Dean alone, but he feels too awkward right now to sit and actually talk with him. There’s certainly a significant amount of things for them to talk about, but even Castiel can tell that right now is not an appropriate time.

It’s well into the night when Dean stands up and stretches. “I think I’m good now, and I’ve got an idea to try – just in case this whole ‘weapon’ thing falls through.”

Castiel looks up from transcribing the scribbled instructions he’s been trying to decipher for the last little while. They’re a better distraction than the teasing text messages that Meg sends every so often. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, you’ve already seen the tablets, right?” Dean taps Chuck on the shoulder while he fishes his cell phone out of his pocket. “I thought maybe we could take a picture of them and see if you can still translate off that? Then it wouldn’t matter if Meg got away with the tablets.”

“I can’t read a picture.” Chuck reminds them around a yawn. He’s been surviving on cup after cup of coffee and if Balthazar’s life wasn’t at stake, Castiel might have felt sorry for keeping him from what little sleep he gets around his visions. “Just the tablets.”

Dean still pushes the papers off the tablet and starts taking a few a pictures. “Yeah, but that was _before_ you’d seen it and all the hoodoo voodoo worked its magic. If you can read them from a picture after you’ve held the real one in your hands, it would be a hell of a lot safer for you in the future if we could take the tablets out of here after you’ve seen them.”

Watching Dean e-mail the pictures to Chuck’s computer is far more entertaining than figuring out the difference between how Chuck writes an ‘h’ and an ‘n’. Chuck opens the pictures, zooming in to focus on the symbols. He squints at the screen and rubs his eyes a few times, even going so far as to run a hand through his hair before he sits back with a sigh.

“Sorry, but it’s not working. I don’t see anything special looking at pictures.”

“Damn.” Dean sighs too, turning away to glare across the living room with his hands on his hips. “I hate having to wait around. How close are you to finishing the translation?”

Chuck picks up the tablet and points to a section of lines that Castiel can’t discern any kind of sense from. “See this? They’re like a section break. I’m right here.” He points at a few lines above it. “If my brain doesn’t melt in the next hour or two, I should be done by then.”

“How we doing on the clock, Cas?” Dean looks up at him, one eyebrow raised curiously. 

Castiel still can’t look him in the eyes. Dean has been looking at him funny all night when he’s been focused enough to notice that Castiel was even in the same room as him. He’s has been trying to ignore it, though it’s not surprising. Maybe Dean is just as aware of this _awkwardness_ sitting between them as he is.

He’s been fighting to keep himself busy for the last handful of hours just so he doesn’t have to think about how he hurt Dean earlier. He hurt him and _scared_ him, and then he tried to run out without an explanation or even an apology. Dean was right. They’re a team. And Castiel was the one who insisted that he and Dean are supposed to be equals in this – _partners_. Castiel can’t recall ever feeling as bad as he does now for how he essentially _betrayed_ Dean.  He hurt him. He made him bleed. He attacked him with words that hurt them both and remembering what _he_ did makes Castiel feel sick to his stomach.

If none of that had happened, Castiel would have likely spent the night sitting next to Dean seeking the comfort he usually gets from being close to him. But now the thought of Dean being kind to him is – it’s unthinkable. How could Dean forgive him for betraying him? Maybe it would be better if they switched partners after Balthazar is safe and sound again. Now that Dean is so close to being completely Fallen, their teams aren’t evenly split anymore. Castiel could, feasibly, travel with Balthazar – or Sam.

No. Castiel doesn’t want to do that. Of course he would love to travel with Sam or Balthazar again, but he doesn’t want to do it without Dean. It would mean having to go to bed alone and the thought of an empty bed now is – it’s terrifying. If he has to go to bed without Dean at least nearby, Castiel isn’t sure if he’ll ever actually sleep.

Worst of all – Castiel isn’t sure if he now links Dean’s presence to a good night’s sleep simply because he likes falling asleep with a warm body next to his, or if it’s because he’s been unknowingly the subject of Dean’s powers every night and he’s become accustomed to that. Everything is just so much more _confusing_ now and he hates it.

Instead of looking up at him, Castiel looks at the screen of his phone. “We have roughly twenty-four hours _at most_ before we absolutely have to leave if we’re going by car.”

“Good. That gives us plenty of time to put together the weapon. You keep on translating, Chuckles. I’m going to give Sam a call and get the four-one-one on what he’s up to.”

Dean leaves the kitchen to make the call, crossing the living room and pacing back and forth by the front door as he speaks in rapid fire Enochian. The call doesn’t last long – barely more than a few minutes, but Dean doesn’t come back for at least ten minutes more than that. When he does, there’s a firm set to his jaw that Castiel catches in his glance before he looks back down at his borrowed notebook.

“Cas, can I talk to you for a sec?”

He almost curses under his breath. This is exactly what he was trying to avoid all night. Castiel doesn’t want to talk about anything that’s happened – at least not yet. This should all wait until Balthazar has been rescued. If they have any kind of big talk right now, it might distract Castiel’s thoughts when the time comes to make the exchange. He can’t afford that risk.

“Depends on what it is that you want to talk about.” Castiel says quietly, scratching out the sentence from Chuck’s notes that he just transcribed. “We need these instructions to be legible when we make the weapon.”

After a few moments of silence, Dean gives a frustrated sigh and pulls up another chair. “You could just say you don’t want to talk about that, y’know?” He moves some of Chuck’s notebooks to the floor to make room for him to cross his elbows on the table. “What if we talk about what’s going to happen when we get to Meg’s drop point?”

“Do you have any suggestions?” So far, all Castiel has planned is to get Balthazar safe before he either uses the weapon they’re making or he uses Dean’s sword to kill Meg. He can’t let her walk away from him _again_.

“Best I got is that we don’t actually hand the tablets over until Balthazar is standing with us.” Dean shrugs and leans further over the table. “Hey, Chucky, have you had any visions about what’s going to go down yet?”

Chuck shakes his head, not even looking up from the tablet. “I only get them when I sleep and I haven’t slept yet. If I get anything after you guys leave, I’ll call.”

“Thank you.” Castiel murmurs softly, putting down his pen. He takes Chuck’s near empty coffee mug to go fill it again, getting one for both himself and Dean too. “I doubt that Meg is going to give us Balthazar without having the tablets in her possession. She’ll likely accuse us of taking off the moment we have him. At best, we’ll likely have to bargain with her – give her one on good faith and we’ll only give her the other once we have Balthazar.”

Dean mumbles a _‘thank you’_ of his own when he accepts the cup of coffee. His fingers linger over Castiel’s and he has to force himself not to pull away sharply. After everything he did to Dean that evening, he’s afraid that he doesn’t deserve any kind of touch from him again. Not yet – not until they’ve determined how this has affected their relationship.

“Meg doesn’t know that I can’t fly more than myself and I probably can’t go very far. After getting the ingredients, Sam might not being able to fly himself and the two of you after that.” Dean sits back in his chair, blowing lightly at the steam rising from the coffee. “I could pray to Charlie. It couldn’t hurt to see if she’d be able to flap her ass down here and pull us outta there once we’ve got Balthazar. She pops in, causes some confusion, we grab the tablets and she zaps us out.”

Castiel mirrors his position, warming his hands around the coffee mug. It certainly sounds like a decent plan and he’s surprised that the idea of getting Charlie’s help hadn’t occurred to him over the last several hours. Before he can give his opinion, Chuck clears his throat loudly enough to get both their attentions and they look to him in unison.

“Um, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but –” Chuck pulls a binder out of the pile next to his computer and holds it out. “You might want to refresh yourself on that cult place that Meg helped set up. Specifically, the lock on the door.”

Dean curses loudly and puts his cup down heavily. “Shit, that’s right. It had angel warding on it.”

Castiel sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “What do you think our chances are that she’ll have the drop location warded from you both too? If that’s the case, I’m going to have to go in on my own.”

“No.” Dean hisses immediately, twisting in his seat to face him. “ _Fuck_ no. There is no fucking way _anyone_ is walking into that alone. Especially not you.”

“Then what do you suggest we do? Just let her keep Balthazar?” He pushes away from the table and starts pacing from the kitchen to the living room and back again. His head is starting to hurt worse than it has all night.

“Of course not! I know he’s your brother, Cas, but sending anyone in there on their own is begging for all sorts of trouble.” Dean stands up too. “I’m just saying that we need some kind of backup plan if the place does end up being angel proofed.”

What are they supposed to do now? Castiel doesn’t _want_ to go in alone, but if it means getting Balthazar back, he’ll do it. If it’s warded from angels, at least it means that Dean and Sam won’t be anywhere near Meg. She won’t be able to hurt him, or take him. Next to getting Balthazar back alive and unhurt, that’s Castiel’s priority. Protect Dean. Protect Sam. Protect Balthazar. Somewhere in there he should probably look into protecting himself – at least for their sake, if not his.

Dean places himself in Castiel’s pacing path, his hands landing heavily on his shoulders to bring him to a sudden stop. “You’ve been up all night, Cas. Why don’t you go get some rest? I can finish transcribing Chuck’s notes into something remotely legible.”

Castiel tries to twist away from him, but Dean’s grip on his shoulders is iron strong. “How do you expect me to _sleep_ when Balthazar is –”

“You’re not going to do anyone, especially Balthazar, any good if you’re tripping on sleep deprivation.” He explains, squeezing gently before letting Castiel go. “Just try and get a little shut eye. Please?”

Of course he’s right. Dean is _always_ right. Castiel sighs and nods slowly. Sleep would be nice, but he highly doubts that he’s going to be able to achieve it. Not when there’s so much to think over and worry about. Will he even be able to sleep on his own now that Dean isn’t helping him anymore? What if his body has been trained into needed angelic assistance to sleep properly?

“If you want, I can go lay down with you in the spare bedroom.” Dean offers slowly – cautiously, _hopefully_. “Once you’re out, I can come back down here and help Chuck.”

There are two immediate reactions to Dean’s words. The first is that warm, welcoming urge to be close to him again; the desire to say yes and wrap himself in the comfort Dean gives him just so he can finally _relax_ for a little while. But the second reaction is born from everything that’s happened tonight. He doesn’t deserve any of the comfort Dean could give him until they talk.

“It’s fine.” Castiel shakes his head and tries for a smile. He has a feeling that he failed horribly – judging by the look Dean gives him. “I’ll take the couch and I can’t promise that I’ll manage to get any rest.”

“At least you’re going to try.” Dean gives him a small smile that looks more worried than anything.

With his coat playing the part of a blanket, Castiel lays on the couch with his back to the room. The cushions smell musty and he tries not to focus on observations like that or how he can hear Dean moving around the room before he settles at the kitchen table again. He keeps his eyes closed and tries to keep his mind blank. It’s not as hard as he thought it would be. Exhaustion has been pulling at him for hours now and Castiel falls asleep rather quickly.

Dean wakes him what feels like only minutes later, but the sun is shining through the front window and Castiel can hear Sam talking lowly with Chuck in the other room. The hand on his shoulder continues to shake him gently until Castiel groans and reaches up to push it away.

“Hey, sleepy-head, time to get up.” His voice is much closer than Castiel expected and he goes still, holding his breath until he hears Dean move away. “C’mon, Cas. We’ve got the bombs made and we’re all ready to go.”

Castiel sits up sharply, ignoring how the movement makes him dizzy as he twists around on the couch to get his feet on the floor. “Bombs? The weapon is a _bomb_?”

There are a dozen mason jars full of a fluorescent blue liquid sitting on the coffee table. It’s been relocated to the center of the living room while the rest of the furniture has been pushed away. Castiel has no idea how he slept through any of that, but he has the sneaking suspicion that Sam might have something to do with it. Dean could have asked Sam to help keep him sleeping while they put everything together. He would berate them for it, but his attention is held by the jars.

“Don’t they look pretty?” Dean asks, snorting a small laugh as he carefully lines the bottom of a duffle bag with most of the jars. They’re packed in with strips of towels wrapped around each one to keep them from jostling together. “According to what Chuck translated, we toss one of these bad boys around a demon and _boom_ – they’re toast.”

Sam comes back into the living room with the tablets and another few towels. He gives Castiel a sheepish smile before helping Dean pack the equally carefully wrapped tablets into the same duffle bag, layering them on top of the bombs. Only one of the jars remains sitting on the table.

“We figure if there’s angel warding, you’ll at least have these.” He explains, hefting the bag after Dean zips it shut. “You could take the tablets out and give them to her. Once Balthazar is safe, you toss one of these and it should clear the room. That’s the best case scenario.”

“I still say we need to find a way for Cas to _not_ go in there alone.” Dean grumbles, picking up the last jar and the bag of weapons Castiel brought with them.

“At least we’ve got a hell of a drive to think about it.” Sam points out, heading for the back door out of the kitchen. “Chuck wishes us good luck, but he’s kind of really tired and he was about to drop dead when I was talking to him. We can borrow his car as long as we promise to bring it back in one piece.”

Castiel rubs the sleep from his eyes and pulls his coat on, stumbling after them. Dean shoves a large travel mug full of coffee into his hand before they get in the car. They’re finally on their way to go help Balthazar. He stares at the back of the headrest from his place in the back seat, blindly sipping the coffee as they pull out of the back lane.

For the first few hours, Sam drives. They only stop to refill the tank and after that Castiel takes over. He almost had to fight Dean for the keys, but he absolutely refuses to let anyone else drive now that he’s fully awake. Castiel wants to be absolutely sure that they get there on time. He’s done the math and if there aren’t any delays, they should reach the destination with a few hours to spare.

Even so, Castiel keeps an eye on the clock for most of the trip. With every hour that rolls by, his stomach starts feeling like it’s twisting into knots despite how his heart manages to remain calm. It feels too much like that hard shell he puts in place whenever he’s on a hunt and has to handle a human-like monster. The first time he had to kill a vampire – someone who looked no older than him, despite having been turned over a century ago – he’d thrown up and nearly been unable to do it. Since then, he’s had this shell to separate himself from all his emotions. Balthazar once called him a robot for it.

Being like this scares him sometimes, but this is a necessity. If he’s not ruthless now, Meg might get away from him again.

Sam and Dean talk between themselves throughout the drive. Castiel barely pays attention to it. He already knows that they should scope out the location before anyone does anything. He knows that’s what they’re supposed to do, but will he really be able to hold himself back long enough for that? If Balthazar is in there, can he really wait outside until a perimeter check has been done? Castiel doubts it – and that should scare him.

The drive seems to fly by. Before Castiel realizes it, the sky is dark again and the map Dean printed out at Chuck’s is boasting that they’re on the right street. He was surprised to find that it lead into a rundown housing development. A sign at the entrance said this area was going to get torn down and rebuilt as a public park. None of the houses on the destination street have any numbers on them and they had to drive past a _road closed_ sign to get here.

“How are we supposed to know which one to go to?” He mumbles, inching the car along the road as he glances from one side of the street to the other. There are no lights on in any of the houses and he doesn’t see anyone waiting outside.

“Forth on the right.” Sam says, leaning forward between the two front seats. “It’s the only one with angel warding on it, which means I can’t see inside for how many demons are waiting inside.”

Dean is suspiciously quiet as he squints out the window at the house. Castiel doesn’t want to ask if Dean can see the warding too. If he can’t, it’s just another sign of how far he’s Fallen. But if Dean is too Fallen to see the warding, he might be Fallen enough to be able to slip past them. Either way, now Castiel knows which house to go into. He pulls the car around sharply, parking on the opposite side of the street from the building.

“Shit, Cas!” Dean rubs his shoulder where he hit the door during the turn. “What the hell was that for?”

“I’m going to get my brother.” Castiel says pointedly, getting out of the car and opening the back door.

Sam blinks at him in confusion from across the back seat as Castiel grabs a shotgun from the bag of weapons and takes the duffle with the tablets. Dean is wrestling with his seatbelt and Castiel is already across the street before he manages to catch up and intercept him. Sam joins them soon after, moving much slower as he carefully handles the only bomb they didn’t pack into the duffle bag.

“Move, Dean.” He says firmly, though he can feel a small tremor in his voice. It doesn’t make his command any less serious. Fury is building in his veins again. Meg is inside that building and so is Balthazar. He’s _so close_.

“I can’t let you go in there, Cas. Not yet.” Dean answers. He sounds calm – like how Castiel _should_ feel.

It’s completely stupid of him to go in there with his anger building steadily – made all the more obvious by how Castiel raises the shotgun, aiming between Dean’s eyes. This is something he would never do if he was in full control and he knows it – but Castiel doesn’t feel entirely like himself right now. He hasn’t felt right in too long.

“ _Move_.” The command comes out on a growl. In that moment Castiel sounds more beast than human.

Dean’s jaw tightens as he grits his teeth, but he doesn’t move and he doesn’t take his eyes off Castiel’s face. Even with the shotgun aimed at him. Castiel has absolutely no intention of actually shooting him. It’s nothing more than a threat and the hope that Dean will move because he doesn’t want to risk seeing whether or not he’s Fallen far enough for a face full of shotgun pellets to actually damage him.

“I’m not letting you go in there yet, Cas.” He still sounds so calm. Castiel is envious of it. “Not while I’m still standing. We need to do a perimeter sweep and make sure the rest of these houses aren’t full of demons just waiting to jump us.”

Castiel struggles to keep his voice even, trying to hide just how quickly he’s falling apart inside. “My _brother_ is in there, Dean.”

“I know.”

“Then _why_ are you stopping me?” He hisses.

“You’re not thinking straight, _that’s_ why!” Dean snaps, though his eyes flicker to the shotgun and where Castiel’s finger is curled around the trigger. He almost winces, as if expecting to be shot for raising his voice. When Castiel doesn’t move, Dean relaxes marginally and continues after a small sigh that sounds a little _too_ relieved. Maybe he really did think that Castiel would shoot him.

“There are probably dozens of demons in there and they know we’re coming. It doesn’t matter if we’re here early or not. Sam and I can’t go in there with you and _you_ need a better plan than just waltzing in there like you’re King Kong on cocaine and nothing can hurt you. You’re not going to do Balthazar any good if you keep running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Y’got me?”

Castiel takes long, deep breaths through his nose. Dean has a point and even if it’s all things Castiel already knew, hearing them from him only drives home the fact that he really is losing control. If Dean wasn’t in his way, Castiel would likely have gone in without a care for anything else – including himself. He might’ve cut a bloody path from the door to Meg and Balthazar, and with what few weapons he’s actually carrying, he likely would not have made it far.

Slowly, he lowers the shotgun and this time the sigh of relief comes from behind him. Sam gives a small, shaky laugh. “For a moment there I thought you might actually shoot him.”

For a moment there, Castiel almost did. Bobby taught him proper gun etiquette and you never put your finger on the trigger when you point your weapon at someone – unless you’re going to shoot them. Just because he had no _intention_ of doing it doesn’t mean that it might not have happened.  

“Fine, Dean.” He says lowly, looking from him to the house and back again. “What would you suggest?”

“Use the bombs as soon as you’re in the same room as Balthazar.” Dean says immediately. “After what I saw of her back in Canada, she’s probably gonna gloat. Demons _love_ to gloat. They’re like cheesy villains. If you’re lucky, those bombs will work right and blast Meg and her cronies to smithereens.”

The only problem Castiel has with that plan is it doesn’t give him the satisfaction of ending Meg with his own hands. A bomb would be too quick a death for her. He gives a dry laugh that scrapes through his throat. “I’d prefer getting her with an angel blade.”

Sam makes a noise of surprise and Castiel briefly wonders if he’s shocked to see this dark side of him. He’s not proud of it, but Castiel has had twenty years to think of how he’s going to make Meg pay for what she did. At least he hasn’t lowered himself to dreaming of how to _torture_ her.

Without hesitation, Dean pulls his sword from wherever he hides it inside his jacket. He lifts one side of Castiel’s coat and carefully tucks it into the lowest inside pocket before letting the coat fall back into place. Castiel doesn’t know what to say. Even a _‘thank you’_ doesn’t seem to fit this moment, especially with how hard Dean is staring at the lump under his coat where the sword now rests.

“I hate this.” Dean mutters, fingers curling into fists at his sides. “I hate that we can’t go with you.” He looks up at him suddenly. “If things go south, ditch the fucking tablets. We can get them back later or not at all. Just – just come back safe, okay? _Both_ of you.”

He puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and squeezes it almost painfully. His voice drops to a near whisper. “You and me, we’ve got things to talk about when this is done. So, you better come outta there, Cas. Promise me that.”

It takes too long for him to choke out an answer. “I promise.”

There are other words Castiel wants to say – the _right_ words as opposed to all the wrong ones from before – but they get stuck in his throat. Even the actions Castiel wants to do, like reaching out to wrap his arms around Dean and hold him close, get lost between his brain and his muscles. The only thing he’s capable of doing is to hold Dean’s eyes for the first time in over a day and nod.

 “Come back safe, Cas. We don’t want to lose any more of our family than we already have.” Sam says softly at his side as he carefully puts the jar in one of Castiel’s pockets. “Don’t be afraid of using that.”

Castiel nods again and shares a significant look with them both. He’ll certainly do all that he can to stay safe. Steeling himself, Castiel leaves them at the curb and slowly makes his way up the crumbled path leading to the front door. The hinges squeak when he nudges it open, but there’s no one waiting for him on the other side. He can smell dust and mold, and once his eyes have adjusted to the dark, Castiel can see that what little furniture here is covered in sheets.

The dust on the floor has been disturbed. There are several foot prints in it and a trail that has been swept clean. It looks like something – some _one_ – was dragged along it. Castiel follows the path through the house going by the light through the windows and what little he can see in the dark. It leads him to a partially opened door in the kitchen at the back of the house. There’s light spilling around the edge of the door and Castiel can hear the murmur of voices.

They fall silent at the squeal of the hinges and the creak of the first step under his foot. The staircase is against a wall of the basement, half of it exposed to the room. Castiel sees everything long before he reaches the bottom and his grip on both the shotgun and the bag goes white knuckled.

Balthazar is on a chair in the middle of the room, his wrists tied to the arms of the chair and his ankles to the legs. He doesn’t look comfortable and the gag wedged between his teeth only exaggerates the irritated expression on his face. His eyes are fixed on Castiel, and they would be apologetic were it not for the bruising and swelling around his right eye. There’s a cut above it too and blood has dried in a winding river down his cheek. More bruises litter his jaw and what part of his chest can be seen through his v-neck. Castiel briefly wonders which of the half dozen black-eyed bastards spaced around the room did that to him.

Maybe it was Meg. She’s the closest one to him – so close that she’s actually balanced herself on Balthazar’s lap and is leaning back against his shoulder as she lazily picks under her nails with the tip of a knife. It’s likely the very same knife that she would have used to carry out the threat she made when she called him. She doesn’t even bother looking up until Castiel has reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Glad you could join us, Clarence.” Meg grins, gesturing at two of the demons with her knife. One of them had a cell phone to her ear, though she wasn’t speaking into it. “I hope you don’t mind that they’re going to check you for weapons.”

Castiel says nothing. He clenches his teeth and holds still as two black-eyed women come over to him, one of them pocketing her phone before she pulls the shotgun from his hand sharply and tosses it on a table against the wall. Balthazar’s Colt is on the same table, as well as his regular weapons. Castiel never takes his eyes off Meg, even as the other demon pulls open his coat and slides the sword from where Dean placed it.

“Isn’t that nice.” Meg coos, getting to her feet and Balthazar gives an unhappy grunt, pulling at the ropes. “A gift from your angel, Clarence? How mad were they that they couldn’t come in too?”

He won’t answer the questions meant to rile him up. She comes forward and takes the sword, turning it over in her hands before she places it on the table with more reverence than Castiel would expect from her. Castiel is grateful that neither of them tries to take the bag from him, but they do take the bomb Sam put in his pocket. Meg seems even more enthralled by that than she was the sword.

“What’s this?” She asks while twisting the lid off the jar to sniff at it. “Did you run out of batteries for your flashlight and decide to make your own glow stick?”

“It’s an energy drink. Specially made by angels. You should try it.” Castiel says flatly, earning a snort from Balthazar. It’s nice to know that even when he’s bound and gagged his brother can still appreciate Castiel’s stabs at humour.

Apparently Meg doesn’t like the smell of the bomb. Her face twists into an image of disgust as she covers it again and hands it off to a demon. “Keep this with the other stuff. We should show that to Lilith later – _after_ we give daddy dearest the tablets. Speaking of! Hand them over, Clarence.”

“You can have the tablets once I have Balthazar.” He keeps his voice flat. If he lets any of his anger show, Meg is just going to find a way to use it against him. It looks like she’s going to refuse him, but Castiel cuts her off. “It’s not like we’re going to be able to run off with them. We’re out numbered, weaponless, and the angels are outside. I’m not a threat to you. All I want is my brother.”

For a few moments, the room is silent. Meg actually looks like she’s considering it as she glances between him and Balthazar. She crosses her arms and drums her fingers against her elbow, head tilted and eyes bright. Just looking at her sends Castiel’s blood boiling and his hands tremble finely at his sides, his nails digging almost painfully into his palms.

“I’ll untie him after you prove you have the tablets.”

He’s itching to make her pay for everything she’s taken from him, but with just one look around the room Castiel has already come to several different conclusions. Each one has played out in his mind and in all of them he doesn’t get to end Meg the way he hoped to. Without either the Colt or Dean’s sword, Castiel won’t be able to take on all these demons. By the time he’s dealt with them, Meg might very well have run off. Or, if Balthazar is still bound, she might kill him first before running.

Balthazar’s safety is all that matters here. He is infinitely more important than Castiel’s vengeance. With that in mind, Castiel carefully puts the bag down and crouches next to it. No one gets any closer to him and he suspects that they think he might have another weapon inside. Good. They should be afraid.

Castiel lifts the first tablet from the bag, unfolding the towel from around it. He tilts it for Meg to see its face and she seems satisfied. Carefully, he places that one aside. When he removes the second he leaves the towel from around that one inside the bag, keeping the other jars concealed. Leaving both tablets on the floor, Castiel picks up the bag and steps away from them, backing toward the stairs again.

Meg picks them up herself, drawing her finger over the symbols. “These are legit. Did you even try making fakes?”

“No. Release Balthazar now.” No sooner has he finished does she gives him a sharp look and Castiel barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “ _Please_.”

“Cut him free.” She commands and gestures with one hand as she takes the tablets to the table, laying them out carefully next to everything she’s already confiscated from them.

One of the other demons steps forward, a switch-blade in his hand. Castiel holds his breath and goes still as he approaches Balthazar. If he chooses to attack instead of release, Castiel won’t be able to get to him in time. He can’t have come this far only to watch his brother die. He doesn’t breathe again until the demon has cut the ropes and Balthazar is on his feet, and he doesn’t relax until he’s at his side.

Balthazar pulls the gag from his mouth and rubs his jaw. “That was unpleasant. I don’t recommend ever bunking with demons, Cassie. They’re terrible roomies.”

Castiel saves his smile for when they’re both safe. After all, he did make a promise to Dean. He tilts his head to the stairs. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.” To make his point, he glances at the table – not at the tablets, but at Dean’s sword and the Colt. If he can’t retrieve the tablets, he’d at least like those back.

“Sorry about the sword, Clarence. I think I’m going to keep it.” After a pause, she gives a little laugh and her smile goes wicked. “ _And_ you.”

“Cassie.” Balthazar says in warning behind him and Castiel’s heart sinks.

He can feel his stomach drop and his chest pulls tight as he slowly glances over his shoulder to find Balthazar already up the first few steps – for what little good that does him. Their way is blocked by even more demons coming down the stairs. Castiel counts three pairs of feet. Balthazar comes back down the steps and he and Castiel move out of the way, backing into the corner opposite the stair case. Two of the new demons stay standing on the stairs, but the one in the front goes to join Meg.

The most terrifying thing about this man isn’t his twisted smile or even his receding hairline. It’s the yellow eyes he turns on them and his name comes unbidden to Castiel’s lips. “Azazel.”

“How nice to see my reputation precedes me.” He sneers through a sickening smile. “When Meg told me you were on your way, I couldn’t resist coming on my own to see the man who doesn’t die.” Azazel tilts his head and looks Castiel over. “Ruby says she’s killed you twice now, but you’re looking rather well for a dead man.”

“He’s really not all that interesting.” Balthazar drawls and drops his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “It’s all in the company you keep, isn’t it, Cassie?”

Castiel has no answer to give. They were never expecting _Azazel_ to come here. Do Dean and Sam know he’s here? Did Azazel have to get past them to come inside? Are they okay? How well can Dean fare against a yellow-eyes, let alone a white-eyes, now that he’s Fallen so far? A sudden worry fills his chest, squeezing tight under his ribs and around his lungs.

“Don’t let me stroke your ego. Of course I’m not here _just_ for you. ” Azazel laughs, turning away to the table. “When they called and told me they had _the gun_ , I just had to come make sure it’s the real deal.” He picks the Colt up and turns it over in his hands. “Where did you get this?”

“I pulled it off the annoying one.” Meg explains, gesturing towards them. “He said it was a gift.”

“A gift from _whom_?” Azazel asks again, voice low and far more dangerous than before. He puts the gun down carefully and starts walking towards them, Meg hot on his heels. “Where did you get that gun?”

Warning paints streaks of nervous sweat down Castiel’s spine. Something about the Colt is important to Azazel and Castiel remembers what Dean told them on Christmas Day. The bullets of that gun can kill almost anything – and maybe, just maybe, that includes yellow-eyed demons. Which means that they can’t leave without it. But the longer they stay here, the less likely their chances of leaving. And his worry for Dean and Sam is like bugs crawling under his skin. He needs to make sure they’re okay too.

In one smooth motion, Castiel lifts the duffel and shoves his free hand into it. Azazel’s eyes go wide and Castiel makes a note of the _knowing_ look on his face when he pulls one of the jars free. Meg, on the other hand, looks furious. How foolish she must feel to think he didn’t have a backup plan like this.

“Shield your eyes.” He hisses to Balthazar as he throws the jar, smashing it on the floor at his feet.

In the seconds before a bright light and a ringing sound fills the room, Castiel sees Azazel grab Meg by the arm. They both disappear before Castiel is forced to cover his eyes and look away. He turns to protect Balthazar, throwing an arm over his brother’s head to shield him against his chest. As soon as the ringing stops, Balthazar shoves him away and they turn back to the room.

“What the hell was that and why the _hell_ haven’t we used them before?” Balthazar breathes, staring at the scorched outlines of where all the demons had been. None of the eight that were left behind are still here. “Those are brilliant. I’ll take ten.” He grabs the bag and looks inside. “Seriously, Cassie. Where did  you get these?”

“Chuck translated it from the tablet.” He explains quickly, crossing the room to retrieve all the items on the table. They’re lucky that Azazel was too far from it to take anything when he left with Meg.

Castiel tosses Balthazar the Colt, taking the tablets and Dean’s sword for himself. The bomb he adds to the bag before they take the stairs two at a time. The moment they’re upstairs, he can hear the sounds of a fight coming from the front of the house. He’s never been so happy to hear the noise of fists hitting flesh and the screams of demons as they die.

Dozens of demons have swarmed the street, circling around Dean and Sam. Thanks to Sam and Jasiel’s sword, Dean at least has a weapon even after giving Castiel his own blade. From what Castiel can see in the weak street light, they’re both carrying injuries of their own. There are so many bodies scattered around their feet that for a moment Castiel feels queasy. He has to force himself not to think about the vessels or their families, especially as he instructs Balthazar to open the bag.

They don’t risk leaving the tablets hidden in front of the house. There’s no telling how soon Azazel will return and how many demons he might bring with him. And how long until the angels decide to join the fray? Castiel can only assume that they’re not here because the demons don’t want them to know about the tablets. If they’re working together and against each other at the same time, it wouldn’t make much sense for the demons to let heaven know about a tablet that could potentially seal the gates of hell.

“Shall we lend a hand, Cassie?” Balthazar asks with a devious smile as he hefts the duffle bag open between them.

He passes Castiel one of the bombs and lifts another. Without hesitation, they both pull back and launch the faintly glowing jars into the middle of the fight. For a moment, everything stops. Dean and Sam share twin looks of surprise and none of the demons seem to know what’s going on as the jars arc toward the ground. The instant they smash open, that same blinding light flashes out to fill the street and the demons’ screams are lost in the roar of noise that comes with it.

Castiel tosses Dean the keys to the car as they run past them. The street is covered in the charred outlines of where the demons had all been standing and small clouds of ash kick up around their feet every time they step on one. He bangs his knee on the dash as he slides into the passenger seat, wincing out of habit instead of actual pain. There’s too much adrenaline thumping through his system for that right now.

Balthazar hasn’t even shut his door before Dean throws the car into gear and slams his foot down on the gas. The tires squeal under them as they tear out of the area, knocking over the _road closed_ sign on their way. Without looking, Dean hands Jasiel’s sword over his shoulder to Sam and he doesn’t drop to the speed limit until they’re on a main road again.

The first to break the silence is Balthazar. “Can someone please explain to me why we’re driving in this piece of junk instead of just flying back to our motels?”

At least he asked politely. Castiel sighs and passes the tablets back to be tucked away inside the duffle bag again. “This is Chuck’s car.”

“And I can’t really do the whole flying thing with a passenger anymore.” Dean bites out.

“I wouldn’t be able to take all of us and multiple trips are out of the question.” Sam explains, sliding down in his seat enough that Castiel can feel his knees pressing into the back of his chair. “All that searching for the ingredients probably halved my grace.”

Balthazar makes a soft noise and when Castiel glances back at him, he looks properly contrite for asking. Sam doesn’t stop there. He looks down at his hands and he sounds small when he speaks again. “I’m sorry you were taken. I should’ve been more care –”

“Thanks, but don’t even try to blame yourself for that.” Balthazar cuts in. “I’m the idiot who went out on my own when we knew we’d already been made by the demons. This is all on me, so don’t you worry about it.”

“You guys hurt at all?” Dean interrupts suddenly, taking his eyes off the road long enough to give Castiel a pointed look.

He shakes his head. “I was well prepared and they didn’t have the chance.”

Behind them, Balthazar snorts and crosses his arms over his chest. “The only thing hurting is my ego. It’s nothing a warm shower and a stiff drink won’t fix.”

“What about you?” Castiel asks, reaching out to touch just under the split skin of Dean’s cheek. It looks like a demon got in a lucky punch.

“We’ll heal.” Dean shrugs, tilting his head away and Castiel lets his hand drop. After a pause, Dean quietly adds. “Eventually.”

No one says anything after that. Castiel stares out the window next to him, his hands curled tightly in the fabric of his coat where it drapes over his lap. Part of him is happy to have Balthazar safe again, content in knowing that he can finally relax – even if he didn’t get to kill Meg this time. With their mission to stop the apocalypse, he’s certain that there will be more chances presented to him in the future. For now, he’s happy to just have his brother back.

Another part of him is caught in a nervous spiral. There’s his talk with Dean sitting on the horizon and they’re likely going to have that as soon as they get back to their motel. He doesn’t even know how they’re going to get there. Neither Dean nor Sam can fly them from Chuck’s house and it’s not like they can steal his car and just ditch it at the motel. But even that feels unimportant in the daunting task of having to talk to Dean about everything he’s said and done over the last few days.

Castiel doesn’t know what to do in that regard. Will Dean even still want to be with him – in all senses – once they’re safely back at Chuck’s? What if Dean is afraid of him now? He didn’t even want Castiel touching him. Was he scared that he’d hurt him again? It didn’t seem like Dean was upset with him when they were at Chuck’s and he’d offered to stay with him in the spare bedroom until he fell asleep.

All of this is making Castiel feel just as confused as he’d been before Ruby had shot him. He knows that he needs to apologize, maybe even explain himself, but he doesn’t know _how_ to do that. Does he just come right out and say it? Will Dean even forgive him? Really, he can only hope for that. The best case scenario is that Dean forgives him and they both try not to let what happened affect their relationship.

The worst case scenario is that Dean doesn’t want to travel with him anymore.

Thinking of that only makes Castiel feel worse and he tries very hard not to keep thinking about that. It’s a long drive back to Chuck’s and Castiel spends half of it dozing on and off, and the other half dreading the results of his talk with Dean. Strangely enough, Balthazar’s loud snores from the back seat are actually a comfort to him.

He’s sleeping when they reach Chuck’s house. Dean wakes him when he swears loudly and nudges his shoulder. “Cas, I need my sword.”

It takes a moment for Castiel to see why. Leaning up against a lamppost in front of the house next to Chuck’s is a familiar figure – Vaniah. He looks so _normal_ with his hands shoved in his pockets, despite looking out of place in his suit. Castiel doesn’t hesitate to hand over Dean’s sword and he gets out of the car too. He doesn’t have a knife on him, but Balthazar does and he’s likely already prepared to paint the banishing sigil as soon as it’s necessary. Sam is at Castiel’s side, a hand on his elbow to keep him back and his sword held tightly in his other hand.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean demands, cutting to the heart of the matter as he points at him with his sword.

Vaniah just stares at them blankly for a moment, his head tilted to one side before he sighs and looks away, staring off up the street. “Let’s say I believe you now, about everything you said before.” After a short pause, he looks back at them. “Where would we go from there?”


	16. Making Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Free will.” Dean says softly and Castiel catches the small glance he gives him out of the corner of his eye. “It’s a son of a bitch, but you’ll be better for it as long as you use it right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Pappcave's Reverse!Verse](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/Papp%27s-reverse%21verse). Papp has written a few things for it already (found at the link above) - part of Castiel's past included. 
> 
> And he was nice enough to do extra art for this fic too! Go give him some love!
> 
>  
> 
> **Updates the 15th and 30th of every month until the story is complete. And no, I'm sorry, I don't know how long it will be.**
> 
>  
> 
> **For chapter statuses and information, please[check here.](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hunting+for+faith)**

This isn’t the first time that Castiel has held an angel’s sword in his hands. It is, however, the first time it’s been the sword of an angel who _isn’t_ Dean. He hadn’t thought that it would feel any different, but on some level beyond the physical, it does. Castiel doesn’t think he could properly explain it if anyone asked him to, but Vaniah’s blade doesn’t sit right in his hand. It feels like it doesn’t belong with him and he hands it off to Balthazar at the first chance he gets.

“Hold this.” He shoves it into Balthazar’s hands and leans through the open backseat window to grab the tablet bag. “I’ll take these inside.”

“I’m honestly surprised you just handed this over.” Balthazar muses, holding the hilt pinched between thumb and forefinger as if the sword were a dirty sock. “The last time I saw you with this, you were filleting Dean like a fish.”

Vaniah’s upper lip curls and Castiel walks away before he gets dragged into this conversation. Despite how that was the day he and Dean fully understood their feelings for each other, he doesn’t like to think it. The memory of Dean bleeding out under his hands is still painful. Despite that, Castiel does agree with Balthazar. Dean only had to ask once for Vaniah to give him his sword and he had done it – though he didn’t look happy while doing it.

“I’m not here to make trouble.” Vaniah mutters, and anything else that follows is too quiet for Castiel to hear as he climbs the steps of Chuck’s porch.

It feels momentarily good to be outside of the thick tension choking the air around the angels. As unsurprising as it is, being around that oppressive weight isn’t helping Castiel’s nerves knowing that Vaniah has almost mortally wounded _both_ Sam and Dean at one time or another. Castiel just got his brother back and he doesn’t trust Vaniah not to hurt any of them. How can they trust him after how he’s hunted them for months; after all the pain he’s caused?

But that’s not up to Castiel to decide. He isn’t going to get to rest any time soon since Dean already declared that they’re going to be going somewhere else to talk. Castiel is hungry but he’s too nervous to eat with Vaniah around, even if they do end up going to talk at a place where food is served. They’ll likely take him somewhere public, somewhere he won’t be able to make a scene. That’s never seemed to stop the angels or demons before, but Castiel can only hope that Dean knows what he’s doing.

Castiel knocks a dozen times before the lock clicks and the door opens a few inches. Chuck peeks through the crack, but his wide eyes are focused beyond Castiel. “Who – um, which angel is that?”

“Vaniah.” He shoulders the door open a little more, at least wide enough to shove the bag through for Chuck to take it. “And if we’re very lucky, he might be on our side now. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of everything. We’re going to borrow your car one more time, but we’ll return it to your garage with a full tank of gas once we’re finished with Vaniah. I promise that we won’t bother you again until we absolutely have to.”

Chuck reluctantly accepts the bag and gives Castiel a small, forced smile. “It’s kinda nice having guests every once in a while. You guys just need to – you should call ahead more often, kay?”

“We’ll try.” He offers his own reassuring smile, the one that he’s practiced a million times over for his parishioners, even though he knows that their presence only makes things difficult for Chuck. His smile must work, because Chuck does look slightly more relaxed when Castiel walks away to return to the group gathered under the light post.

“How’s the prophet?” Vaniah asks the moment Castiel is within earshot again.

“Worried that you’re going to mess up his lawn.” Castiel replies smoothly, walking past them all to take his seat in the car again.

Balthazar gives a sharp snort of laughter before following. “Oh Cassie, you never cease to surprise me. Where are we headed?”

“Someplace we can talk.” Dean answers, taking the driver’s seat again.

Vaniah makes a face when Sam gestures at the empty middle seat next to Balthazar in the back. “Just tell me where and I’ll meet you there.”

“You’re not leaving our sight ‘til I’m convinced you’re not entirely the jackass I’ve always thought you were.” Dean hisses out the window, his knuckles going white on the steering wheel. “Sit your ass down. We’re going to a bar.”

For a solid minute they glare at each other. It’s a silent battle of wills and it chafes what little of Castiel’s patience is still left after the last few days that he’s had. Granted, it probably wasn’t much of a party for Balthazar either, but _he_ doesn’t seem any worse for the wear – regardless of the dried blood where Sam hadn’t quite been able to wipe it off for him. Castiel has learned in his years of experience that the back seat of a moving car is never the best place for first aide.

“ _Fine_.” Vaniah finally concedes, though his expression never wavers as he slides in next to Balthazar and Sam squeezes in next to him.

Dean starts the car before the door is even shut. Silence reigns the entire drive up and down several streets in what Castiel believes to be the ‘downtown’ area of the city. They drive for long enough that the gas light pings on and Vaniah actually _groans_ when Dean stops to fill the tank. Castiel thinks Dean might be punishing Vaniah in some way and he says nothing until Dean finds a seedy bar.

He leads them through the doors with the kind of confidence of someone who’s been here before, though Castiel wouldn’t doubt that this is Dean’s first time here. According to the sign set up next to the interior door, it’s a ‘seat yourself’ kind of establishment. Castiel touches Dean’s shoulder lightly and gestures at a booth in the very back of the smoky room – too far from the pool tables, TV, and bar for anyone to be interested in it. They should be able to speak in private there.

Vaniah rolls his eyes when he’s forced to sit between Dean and Sam on the half-circle bench that makes up the booth. Castiel and Balthazar take up the ends and it’s still a tight fit. Dean’s elbow bumps Castiel’s every time either of them moves. They wait until a server has taken their drink orders and delivered them before anyone says anything.

“Well, where are we going to start?” Balthazar asks lazily, though he’s just as tense as the rest of them. Castiel can see it in how he grips his beer bottle – and that alone is proof enough. He only ever orders a beer when he’s not out to enjoy himself. “Should we make him eat a plateful of jalapeno poppers to prove he’s not here to jerk us around?”

Castiel kicks him under the table. His cavalier attitude really isn’t helping matters. In fact, Vaniah seems to be ignoring him completely. He’s got more interest in the bottle of beer before him, and he has yet to acknowledge its existence.

“He’s right.” Sam leans forward slightly, fixing Vaniah with a cold stare. “What can you do to prove that you’re not here on Zachariah’s orders to try tricking us?”

“If Zachariah knew that I was meeting with the both of you, he’d have my wings over his mantel.” Vaniah nearly sneers.

“Then hide yourself.” Dean grins triumphantly and crosses his arms, leaning back against the worn padding of the booth. “Hide your vessel from heaven so they won’t be able to track you when you’re down here and getting up to no good.”

“I’m sure he’s already had the foresight to do that already.” Castiel points out, pausing to take a sip of his own beer just to have something in his empty stomach. “You _did_ say that you were here on Earth without their permission. I can’t imagine that you would do that without some insurance.”

Vaniah’s lip pulls back again and he gives Castiel a narrowed eyed stare. If they weren’t trying to get him to prove that he’s here in good faith, Castiel would never dare to bait him like this. Hopefully Dean and Sam are analyzing Vaniah’s reactions just as much as Castiel is. After all, they do know him far better than he does.

“They trust me.” Vaniah says quietly, his eyes dropping to the bottle he hasn’t touched. “They don’t check on me because they trust me and I’ve used this to my advantage in my hunt for you – though I _have_ been hiding my grace while on Earth. But your human is right, Abdiel.” He practically sneers the admission. “In case they do check on me while I’m here, I don’t want them to look for my vessel when they can no longer find me by my grace.”

Balthazar hums a thoughtful note and taps his fingers on the table. “Does that mean you’re going to burn those sigils into your vessel like these two did to all of us?”

“Yeah, he is.” Dean sits forward again, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. “That’s going to be trust exercise number one.”

“And what, pray tell, will number two be?” Vaniah asks flippantly as he slips off his suit jacket and rolls the sleeves of his shirt up. “Are you going to have me make an ass out of myself in front of all these humans? That seems more _your_ area, Abdiel.”

“It’s _Dean_.” He hisses, smile falling again. “We don’t use our true names down here. It helps keep heaven _and_ hell from tracking us. If you pass whatever tests we give you, then you damn well better pick a new name for yourself. Or I’ll pick – _no._ I’ll let _Balthazar_ pick it for you.”

Vaniah gives them all a dirty look before he presses his hand to his chest and grits his teeth. For a brief second, Enochian symbols flare to life in lines all across his chest, glowing from under his shirt. They’re gone as quickly as they came and Vaniah sags back against the booth, breathing hard.

“That was unpleasant.”

“We know.” Sam pats him on the shoulder and pulls his hand back sharply a moment later, realizing what he’d just done. Such a gestures makes Castiel wonder if they might have been friends when they were in heaven together, long before the apocalypse came around.

He nudges Dean’s side with his elbow. “Let’s get this over with. Go on with number two.”

Dean gives him a quizzical look that Castiel doesn’t want to think too much into. There isn’t anything weird about him wanting this to be done sooner rather than later. The longer they spend in Vaniah’s company, the more agitated Castiel feels. He’d rather have the dreaded talk with Dean then continue sitting here with everyone making snide remarks at one another – though he’d rather have a shower and a good night’s rest before he and Dean broach this awkward _thing_ between them.

“Listen to your human, _Dean_.” Vaniah sneers again. “The less time I spend here, the less likely my absence will be noticed.”

“Number two – information.” Dean says, turning back to him. “Give us something we don’t know about that’s going down in heaven. And it better be good.”

This seems to trip Vaniah up. He sits back and his eyes go unfocused, staring off across the bar while he thinks. With Charlie sending them information from the inside and Bobby’s team monitoring everything else, Castiel can’t even fathom of anything that Vaniah would know that they don’t.

Despite that, he’s not prepared for what Vaniah says.

“Michael’s vessel.” He murmurs finally, looking back and forth between Dean and Sam to catch their reactions. “Zachariah has been put in charge of searching for Michael’s vessel in preparation for when the final seal is broken on Lucifer’s cage. The demons have already found Lucifer’s true vessel and they’re keeping him under close watch until the time comes.”

“Shit.” Dean fists his hands on the table top and he shares a weighted look with Sam. “If Michael gets his vessel before Lucifer gets out, he could give us one hell of a run for our money. We’re hidden from heaven, but I bet he could still find us easy enough.”

“He doesn’t care about you.” Vaniah interrupts with a shrug. “Since he gave the order to have you cut from the host, Michael told everyone not to waste time with either of you anymore. Zachariah’s got him convinced that no matter what you do, you’re not going to be able to stop this.”

Castiel’s grip on his beer bottle goes tight enough that his fingers start to hurt. “Does he know what we’re doing? With the tablets?”

“As far as I can tell, I’m the only angel who knows that you’re searching for them. The weapons you get from those aren’t going to be worth anything when the war comes. You know that right?”

It’s not surprising that no one mentions Charlie. They’re barely convinced that Vaniah is here to help them. The last thing any of them would do is sell out the only angel in heaven who came to them without any convincing needed. And they’re certainly not going to tell him that their main goal is the spells for closing the doors to heaven and hell completely. It’s strategy. You never show your hand.

“There’s nothing that we can do about the vessels, is there?” Balthazar asks quietly, looking between all the angels hopefully as if they’ll be able to say something to refute his question.

Sam shakes his head and shoves a hand through his hair. “It’s pointless to try. Even if we followed the line of Cain and Abel to find their current descendants, we’d have to kill every single living member of the bloodline to keep Lucifer or Michael from having the chance to possess them. Compared to what we’re doing now, it’s a gigantic waste of time.”

“It does lend a sense of urgency to what we’re doing.” Castiel says softly, trying to be the voice of reason. They may not be able to use this information to their advantage, but at least they can use it as motivation. The sooner they find the spells to close the gates, the less likely they’ll have to contend with Michael – no matter what Vaniah says.

Dean swears under his breath and rubs a hand over his face while he thinks. Vaniah remains steadfast, alternating between watching them and staring blankly across the bar. The waitress comes again and Castiel asks for the bill, hoping that it will help speed things along. Thankfully, Sam takes the hint and he turns to Vaniah with hopeful eyes.

“Will you help us?”

Balthazar mimics him, leaning forward to look around his side. “It would be great if you could keep heaven off our tails while we do what we have to do.”

“I could try.” Vaniah shrugs, glancing around at all four of them. “I can’t guarantee I’ll do any good. I’m just Zachariah’s muscle. He’s the one who knows where all the bodies are buried.”

“If you’re not able to offer us any kind of help, then why are you here?” Castiel asks, knowing he sounds cold but it’s a question that needs to be posed.

It makes Vaniah shift uncomfortably, but he doesn’t look away. “Because you were right. I knew that heaven is in league with the demons to bring about the apocalypse, and I thought that was the way it was supposed to be. But God isn’t here to keep us to His plans. If _He_ doesn’t care enough to make sure that they’re carried through, then why should we? Especially when it means that _everything_ on Earth will die. One way or another, this world will be left a barren battlefield. And that –” He pauses and looks down at his hands, fingers clenching against the pockmarked wood of the table. “ _That_ doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Free will.” Dean says softly and Castiel catches the small glance he gives him out of the corner of his eye. “It’s a son of a bitch, but you’ll be better for it as long as you use it right.”

“Try not to hang yourself with it.” Balthazar mutters with a laugh as he tips back the last of his beer in a mocking cheers. “At least it doesn’t hurt to have another angel on our side, hm? What’s that old saying – the more the merrier?”

Castiel nods and he pays the bill when it comes. It’s a silent, unanimous decision for them to leave the bar and they file out one after another. They stand in the chill night air in a circle beside the car, looking around at each other as if they’re all waiting for someone else to decide what they’re going to do next. Except Vaniah isn’t looking at anyone. His hands are in his pockets and his eyes are focused on the sliver of the moon peeking through the clouds above them.

“Victor.” He says suddenly, breaking the silence. “You want a code name? That’ll be mine. Though I feel the need to point out that using the names of our vessels is not all that creative.”

“At least it’s easy to remember.” Dean shrugs, jingling the keys as he turns toward the car. “C’mon, we gotta take this back to Chuck’s.”

Victor still doesn’t get in the car, even though this time Castiel takes the middle seat after Balthazar shoved him out of the way while calling ‘shotgun’. He takes one look at the car and shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not. This thing is too slow.”

“Then what does his Highness suggest?” Balthazar drawls, slinging his arm over the back of Dean’s chair.

In answer, Victor lays his hand on the roof of the car. The hairs on the back of Castiel’s neck stand on end and a warning chill races down his spine moments before the scenery around the car changes. Colours and shapes blend into each other in the blink of an eye, becoming an entirely different street lined with homes. It’s nauseating and Chuck is very lucky that Castiel doesn’t end up spilling the beer he drank all over the floor of his car.

“There.” He steps away with a pleased smirk. “ _That’s_ how you travel. Can I have my sword back now?”

Balthazar hands it to Dean and he passes it to out the car window. Dean pulls it out of Victor’s hand a moment before he can take it. “Neat trick. How about taking us all back to our motels, huh?”

The harsh, barking laugh startles everyone in the car and even Sam jumps in surprise. Victor is quicker than Castiel can see and he pulls his blade from Dean’s grasp easily, stepping out of reach before Dean can even get the door open. “I may be on your side now, _Dean_ , but that doesn’t mean I’ll happily play the taxi driver.”

He’s gone in a flurry of rustling, invisible feathers before anyone can say anything in retaliation. Dean mutters a string of swears as he turns the car on. Castiel slides into the side seat and pulls the door shut before Dean drives them around to the garage behind the house. He’s still swearing when he slams the door and they get out to gather in the dim light of the back alley.

“What now?” Sam asks softly, bumping Dean’s shoulder with his own as if that has any hope of calming his brother’s rage.

“I told Chuck that we weren’t going to bother him again until we have another tablet.” Castiel explains, gesturing back at the house. “If anything, we should all return to following our lists immediately.”

Dean snorts and shoves his hands in his pockets as he looks away up the alley. “And how are we going to do that? Sam, you got enough juice in you to get Cas and me back too?”

Sam shakes his head and glances at Balthazar. “I should be able to get us back to our stuff, but I don’t think I could take more than one passenger right now. Getting all those ingredients was a bitch.”

“Don’t worry about it, Sammy.” Dean turns back and drops a hand on his shoulder. His grin is forced, but it’s still reassuring. “Cas and I can manage. You two get back and get some rest. We’ve got tablets to find and a world to save, y’know?”

Castiel steps forward and pulls Balthazar into a tight embrace. He knows his brother doesn’t like hugs, but after the night they had, he feels that this is deserved. There’s a queasy, sick sensation filling his stomach and Castiel is certain that it has nothing to do with the beer he drank on an empty belly and everything to do with how much he’s missed Balthazar. If it were at all possible, he wouldn’t say goodbye to either of them right now. That sense of homesickness he’s been carrying for weeks gets worse and Castiel forces his voice to work to say his goodbyes.

He stands with Dean for a few minutes in the back alley after they watched their brothers disappear. In an effort to break the awkward silence and prolong the talk he can feel sitting on the horizon, he starts toward the end of the alley and gestures for Dean to follow him. “We can take a bus back to our motel.”

“A _bus_?” Dean asks, incredulous. “You’re kidding right? Cas, we can’t take a –”

“First we’ll need to find out which transit bus will take us to the nearest station. And then we’ll need to know when the next bus leaves to where we’re staying.” Castiel interrupts while he fishes his phone out of one of his pockets. “I’m going to call Frank. He should be able to get all that information for us _and_ book the bus tickets before we get there.”

Dean groans and falls into place at Castiel’s side as they make their way to the street and the nearest bus stop. Frank is a wealth of helpful information, but his fees are never cheap and Castiel knows there’s going to be an extra chunk taken out of his credit card along with the cost of the tickets he’ll be picking up at the station.

*

Miraculously, by the time they get out of a taxi in front of their motel, the conversation Castiel is dreading hasn’t even been mentioned. They didn’t sleep on the bus rides there, and they barely spoke the entire trip. The silence between them sets Castiel more on edge than if Dean had chosen to address this pending conversation during the ride.

Everything that happened before is hanging in the air – all the words said and unsaid after Meg’s call; all of Castiel’s actions. They’re all there as intangible specters filling the space between them. It makes Castiel feel sick knowing that this is his fault. _He_ lost control, _he_ hurt Dean in every way he never wanted to and now he might lose all of this.

As soon as they round the corner of the motel, Dean makes a beeline for the Impala. He sings her praises, checking the paint job for scratches and inspecting every window for cracks. Castiel walks past without a second glance. There’s no need for him to be around when Dean gets indecent with his car.

The _‘do not disturb’_ sign is still hanging on their door knob and Castiel leaves it as he goes inside. No one should disturb the conversation they’re going to have soon. His stomach twists when he sees the state of the room, untouched from the mess he made a few days ago during his rage. Guilt and shame go to war in his belly, fighting to fill his chest and claw their way into his throat to choke him.

Castiel throws his coat over the back of one of the chairs in the kitchenette and starts to clean the room as best as he can, if only to keep his shaking hands busy. A chill goes down his back and his palms start to sweat when he hears the door shut. Instead of looking up, Castiel focuses on pulling the mattress back onto the bed frame.

They’re alone now and there’s absolutely _nothing_ stopping them from having this _talk_. Castiel knows how important it is that they have it and he can hardly stand having this tension between them, but he’s _scared_ of it. He’s scared that Dean will realize that they’re incompatible, or something worse, and he’s going to want to _leave_. Castiel hurt Dean physically _and_ emotionally. That has to be unforgivable, right?

Maybe this conversation wouldn’t seem so daunting if Castiel had a decent night’s sleep under his belt and coffee in his veins. He’s been so stressed about the mess with the property lines and then Balthazar being taken that it feels like Castiel hasn’t had a moment of proper rest in ages. There hasn’t been a break. It’s just been one thing right after the other and doesn’t he deserve at least some downtime before he finds out that Dean wants to break up with him?

As he moves on to righting the end table, Castiel is fully aware that Dean hasn’t said or done anything yet. He’s still standing by the door, watching him. It’s unnerving and Castiel can’t help but wonder what Dean might be thinking. Is he trying to find some way to word it so that it will hurt less? Or maybe he’s thinking about how they should’ve talked _before_ they split up from Sam and Balthazar. That way they could have gone their separate ways instead of both of them coming all the way back here.

When the lock clicks into place, Castiel has to stamp down on the urge to throw up. He just wants everything to be _right_ between them again, but he’s convinced that he’s ruined everything. His whole body goes still with the alarm clock in his hands when Dean approaches. Castiel can see from the corner of his eye how Dean reaches for his shoulder, hesitating to touch before he pulls him around.

“I got this, Cas.” Dean says softly, taking the clock from him. “I’ll finish cleaning up. You should go take a shower and relax or something. You need it.”

Castiel tries for a thankful smile, but he’s not sure he manages anything more than a queasy grimace. He slumps against the door for a few minutes after he takes his refuge in the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror is ragged and, frankly, terrifying. The last time he saw himself look like this, it was when he’d spent a week at Balthazar’s bedside in a hospital after a wendigo had nearly given him an impromptu appendectomy.

A shower will hopefully fix that. He can’t remember when his last one was and Castiel can’t help the loud sigh of relief that punches out of him when he steps under the hot spray of water. It does wonders to relax him and he spends several minutes just standing with his head bowed, letting the weak water pressure fall against the back of his neck. By the time he steps out to wipe the steam from the mirror, he does feel marginally better. A shave and a good teeth scrubbing at least helps him not look like death warmed over.

His pajamas are clean and warm and the bed does look extremely inviting when Castiel finally comes out of the bathroom. The room is as immaculate as possible and Dean is seated at the table with the laptop.

He looks up briefly and gives Castiel a tentative smile. “I’m going to do some research about our next tablet. See if I can’t dig up more than what Google maps says about it being in the middle of a jungle.”

The bed immediately stops being desirable. Dean doesn’t even want to sleep with him anymore. It’s something Dean has made a point of doing regardless of whether or not he actually needs to sleep. He hasn’t even made an attempt to hug or kiss Castiel in _days_. All of this is just adding up to the conclusion that Castiel knows is coming. Dean is going to leave and there’s no way an apology would be enough to keep him from going.

Castiel can’t bring himself to say anything. His throat feels like it’s closed up and his nose stings as unshed tears prickle behind his eyes. As badly as this hurts, he won’t cry. Not where Dean can see or hear him. He’ll reserve that for after their talk and after Dean is really gone. Until then, he curls under the blankets on the bed farthest from the kitchenette with his back to Dean and he tries to keep his breathing steady until sleep takes him. A few tears still manage to slip over the bridge of his nose and Castiel turns his face into the pillow to hide them.

*

Castiel comes crashing back into consciousness a few hours later with tears streaking his cheeks and a cry on his lips. Dean’s hands are like vices around his arms, the only things keeping him from reaching for the nearest weapon. Confusion and fear cloud Castiel’s thoughts as he struggles from the consuming fires of his nightmare, trying to makes sense of the worried green eyes above him.

“Hey, _hey_. Cas, it’s okay. I’m right here.” Dean repeats the words several times and it takes so long for Castiel to understand what they mean.

The moment Dean loosens his hold, he pulls Castiel up against his chest. Castiel doesn’t hesitate to bury his hands in the back of Dean’s shirt and press his face to his neck. He breathes the otherworldly scent of his skin, tinged with dark hints of leather and the oil from the hours they spend in the Impala. It’s incredibly calming. Castiel focuses on that and the drift of Dean’s fingers through his hair; the rumble of his voice under his cheek as he promises that everything is okay and it was just a dream; the tightness of his arms around his back, holding him close.

After several minutes, when Castiel is finally relaxed and his breathing has evened out, Dean slides his hands to his shoulders and pushes him back just enough to see his face. “You doing better now?”

Castiel nods slowly, but he can’t meet Dean’s eyes. Not when his nightmare’s memories has light still burning behind them.

“You think you’re going to be able to sleep again tonight?” Dean asks softly. One of his hands moves to the side of Castiel’s neck and his thumb strokes in soothing arcs just behind his ear. “Or do you want to hit the road now? We could watch some TV, or – or we could talk, or something. I dunno. Just do something to get your mind off it?”

He wants to do everything and nothing. What they’re doing now is good, though the positioning is starting to get uncomfortable. Castiel shakes his head and pulls Dean in again. He should let go, but his hands are locked in Dean’s shirt and he doesn’t want to. If he lets go, Dean might not ever hold him again. Especially after this _talk_.

“Stay.” Castiel whispers against his neck and he doesn’t just mean _now_. He means _always_ , but he can’t bring himself to say the rest out loud.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Dean answers softly as he moves to lay down beside him – made all the more difficult by Castiel’s refusal to let go.

His arms are warm and heavy around him and Castiel can hardly believe he hasn’t had this in days. It’s comfortable, familiar, and it fills an ache in him he hadn’t known the name for. After a long stretch of silence and listening to the steady beat of Dean’s heart under his cheek, Castiel finally finds the courage to steel himself to talk.

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t want to break this comfortable moment, but the need to apologize weighs on him more than the memories of the nightmare. The longer he puts off this talk, the worse he’s going to feel and Castiel doesn’t think he can stand feeling any sicker than this.

Dean’s breathing stops for a moment, but it’s long enough for Castiel to notice. “For… what?” He hesitates when he asks, as if he’s cautiously probing to determine whether or not this is the beginning of the conversation he made Castiel promise they would have.

“For everything.” He mumbles, moving his hand until he can trace almost the exact spot on Dean’s arm where the glass of the broken lamp had cut him. “I didn’t mean what I said – at least not how I said it. Everything that’s happened is _because_ of you, but it’s not your _fault_.”

“Cas –” Dean starts, trying to prop himself on his elbow.

Castiel shakes his head and cuts him off. “I wouldn’t change anything. We’re here because of the choices you – the choices _we_ made. And even if I miss my home, even if nothing is normal anymore, even if Balthazar or I get hurt, I still have you and I wouldn’t change anything that might mean I never get to meet you or be here with you.” He takes a deep breath and curls his fist in the front of Dean’s shirt, holding on though he half expects Dean to pull away. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” Dean says quietly. “I know I’ve done a ton of shit that’s fucked up your life and I’m sorry for it too. But this? It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Castiel pushes himself up on his elbow so he can look at him. “Dean – everything that I did, everything that I said, I –”

“Dude.” Dean cuts him off this time and sits up, practically forcing Castiel to do the same. “You think I didn’t know that you were stressed for a week straight at the _least_? Meg is already a hell of a sore spot with you and Balthazar is your _brother_. If I was in your position, I probably would’ve been a thousand times worse.”

A small grin tilts his lips. “So trust me when I say that I understand, okay? I’ve seen enough TV and movies to know that shit goes down when people are stressed and upset. Things get said that aren’t meant to be said. Hell, it’s not like I haven’t done it before.”

Castiel frowns, tilting his head as he regards Dean. “You’re going to forgive me, just like that?”

“For all _that_ , yeah.” Dean shrugs. “You got angry and you vented. You need a verbal punching bag and I’m happy to be it. You needed to throw some stuff? That’s fine. It’s not like you were throwing it _at_ me. I was hit by accident.” He pauses and his smile falters. “The only thing I’m having trouble wrapping my head around is why you tried to leave me behind. That’s the only thing I’m _actually_ pissed about.”

Of course Castiel hadn’t forgotten about that. He’d replayed everything he could remember about their fight over and over on the bus ride back here. Every moment is still fresh in his mind and he looks down at his hands, guilt overtaking him.

“I didn’t want her to have you.” He starts quietly, hands curling into fists at just the thought of it. “Meg asked you to join them and I couldn’t – I thought it might be a trap. For you and Sam, for me. At the time, I thought it would be better if I went alone. Even if it meant that you were going to be mad at me for it, at least _she_ wouldn’t – I couldn’t lose Balthazar _and_ you.”

“Oh.” Dean sounds surprised and Castiel looks up to find him staring. “Yeah, that – that makes a whole hell of a lot of sense, actually.” He rubs a hand through his hair and gives Castiel a sheepish grin. “In that case, there’s nothing to forgive, Cas. Not as long as you don’t pull that shit again.”

“I won’t.” Castiel says firmly, nodding to punctuate his statement. “I did not enjoy feeling like this.” He places a hand over his stomach and looks down at it. “Worrying whether you were going to leave or not has been very unpleasant.”

One of Dean’s hands covers his own and a thrill spirals up Castiel’s as their fingers link together. “You’d have to do a lot worse than that to make me leave, Cas.” He squeezes Castiel’s hand and pulls him forward by it until Castiel is leaning well into his space, their foreheads resting together. “I kinda knew that you didn’t mean it.” He murmurs into the space between them. “But I was kinda also pretty worried that you actually _did_ mean it. Been scared as hell of having this talk since - well, yeah.”

He was worried too? But he was the one who _wanted_ this talk. Castiel is about to ask why, the question on the tip of his tongue, when the answer blindsides him in a moment of clarity. From the very beginning of their relationship, even before it was official and well before Castiel gave his permission for Dean to push his boundaries, Dean has been very hands-on with him. He wasn’t holding back these last few days because he was afraid of what Castiel had done. Dean was holding back to give him _space_. If anything, Dean’s distance kept Castiel from lashing out again.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel breathes, pulling his hand from Dean’s to slip his arms around his shoulders. More apologies get murmured into the skin of Dean’s throat as Castiel leans into him again, almost forcing him back against the pillows. “I’m sorry, Dean. I won’t do it again, I promise. I’ll keep a better hold of my emotions and –”

“No, don’t do that.” Dean cuts him off suddenly, rolling them both until he can look down at Castiel with a stern set to his jaw. “Don’t hold anything back from me. If you’re upset, let it out. If you’re happy, let it out. If you’ve got something to say to me, _let it out_. Got it?”

Yes, Castiel gets it. As per Dean’s instructions, he lets out the feeling he has welling up inside of him like a tsunami. It crashes through his chest, swirls up his throat, and spills from his tongue. Three little infinite words that he’s used sparingly in his life. Castiel is surprised by how at home they feel on his tongue, though they nearly get lost when he doesn’t hold back from his urge to kiss Dean. They both already know that he feels everything those words could ever hope to encompass, but Castiel is fairly certain that he’s never said them out loud. Giving voice to something gives it power and he can tell the exact moment when Dean registers what he said.

Castiel pours every ounce of that feeling into the kiss he pulls Dean down into. He’s too relieved that they worked everything out to care that Dean ends up practically on top of him. Right now, Castiel is too focused on the fragile joy that makes his fingers tremble as he threads them into Dean’s hair and tilts his head just right. Dean isn’t going anywhere. He’s _staying_ and even if Castiel is forgiven, there is still so much he has to make up for.

After everything that’s happened to them in the last few days, Castiel just wants to be happy right now. He wants good memories to blot out the remainder of his nightmare. Dean makes him happy and that’s all Castiel needs to focus on. God, the Church, his vows – they’ve never done for him what Dean does. They’re restrictions on his life and Dean is a storm that blew his cage apart. Dean deserves more than this from him and Castiel wants to give him all that he’s able.

That doesn’t mean he has to give Dean _everything_ right now, and Castiel knows what he is and isn’t comfortable with. He’s more than alright with rolling them again when Dean becomes fascinated with the sensitive skin behind one of his ears. He draws Dean’s mouth back to his, leaving nibbling kisses across his jaw until he finds his lips again. Dean smiles into the kisses and his hands spread wide in the small of Castiel’s back as he fits himself against Dean’s side comfortably, barely noticing that he’s straddling one of Dean’s legs to do it.

His head fills with the slick sounds of their kisses, the soft gasps and murmured names. It’s all Castiel knows as time becomes meaningless and everything that has plagued him for days falls away. As far as Castiel is concerned, for these precious minutes he and Dean are the only two people in all of existence. The world, the apocalypse – none of that matters right now. Of course it _matters_ , but with Dean carefully tracing the inside of his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue – he finds it hard to care about much else at the moment.

What brings him crashing back to reality is simple in nature, and yet profoundly different from anything he’s experienced yet. It’s a moan – pure and deep and most definitely reverberating low in _his_ chest. Castiel goes very still and takes stock of the situation he’d been too distracted to notice. Mercifully, Dean stops moving too – because they were most assuredly _moving_ against one another, if the little twitches of Castiel’s hips are anything to go by.

Dean is staring back at him from only inches away, eyes hooded with blown pupils and a corona of green. He’s breathtaking and Castiel is, for a moment, struck dumb by the realization that Dean looks like that _because of him._ He’s shocked from his stupor when Dean’s hands fall to the mattress from where they had been holding Castiel’s hips hard enough to bruise. 

“Too much?” He whispers, breathing hard and licking his lips – and Castiel can’t help taking note that they’re kiss-swollen, red, and so very tempting to return to.

“Too much.” Castiel agrees and rolls away, dropping onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

To his surprise, he’s actually hard. It’s not much of a surprise that he _has_ as erection in the sense that he hasn’t before, because he most certainly has been having them – specifically because of Dean – for months. It’s that he has one _now_ and hadn’t noticed when his blood had gone south or that this one came from something as simple as kissing. Though that was kissing like they haven’t done since – since ever, maybe. It’s still very hard to think and now Castiel knows why.

It’s an even more dizzying thought to realize that the front of Dean’s jeans are just as tented as his pajama pants. Castiel is fighting the urge to throw a blanket over them both to hide them so he doesn’t keep glancing down and thinking ‘ _I did that_ ’. As empowering and terrifying as that thought is, Castiel is suddenly very much out of his depths. He understands that his actions brought them both to this state and that leaving Dean now would be extremely rude, but continuing is – he’s not sure it’s something he’s _capable_ of at the moment. Even if it’s something he’s almost certain that he _really_ wants to do.

“Sorry.” Dean murmurs as he drapes an arm over his eyes. “I kinda got carried away when you started getting –” He waves a hand in a vague gesture before dropping it to rest on his belly. After a moment of silence, he sighs. “What do we do now?”

Castiel shrugs and shifts uncomfortably. He hasn’t masturbated since before seminary and the thought of doing so now when Dean is _right there_ and just as aroused as him seems unfair – to both of them. The best suggestion that he has is… nothing. What is the proper protocol for a situation like this?

When he fails to answer, Dean gives a small laugh and shoves at his shoulder. “Go take a shower, Cas. A cold one, a hot one, whatever you feel like doing as long as you deal with it somehow. There’s no way you’re going to be able to fall asleep sporting a boner.”

“I’m not going to be able to sleep again tonight anyways.” Castiel says softly, swinging his legs off the mattress as he sits up. With his nightmare and this ache in his lower belly, there is absolutely no chance that his brain will slow down long enough to get any kind of rest.

Dean sits up too, sliding up the bed to rest his back against the headboard. “Take as long as you need in the shower. I’ll start packing as soon as I’ve dealt with my –” He gestures at his lap and gives Castiel an apologetic smile. “You might want to be _at least_ five minutes.”

It’s a rather obvious hint and Castiel can feel his face flush red – though he’s unsure if it’s in embarrassment or not. He murmurs a quiet apology, but Dean waves it off with an understanding smile  that only makes Castiel want to return to the bed instead of grabbing his bag and locking himself in the bathroom for the second time that night.

His cold shower is nowhere near as relaxing as the one he’d taken earlier. By the time he crawls out, Castiel is shivering violently and he has an intense hatred for all five-hundred-and-twelve cream coloured tiles that line the walls of the bathtub. He should have just dealt with his _‘boner’_ , as Dean put it, in the same manner that Dean was quite obviously going to do. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but every time he’d reached to do it – as it seemed a much more preferable option to waiting for the cold water to take effect – all the voices of every priest he’s ever met came crashing into his head with ‘ _masturbation is a sin’._ He really, _really_ , hates those voices. Obviously it isn’t if a literal _angel_ was doing it just on the other side of the door.

As he gets dressed with bitter indignation, Castiel decides that the next time he has an erection he’s going to deal with it like a normal person – voices and upbringing be damned. He enjoyed what he did with Dean and he wants to do it again. If possible, he’d like to do _more_ than that one day. And Dean deserves the effort he’ll have to make to prepare himself for that point.

Dean has a travel mug of coffee ready for him when Castiel finally comes out of the washroom, and the rest of their bags are packed and ready to go on the beds. He’s sitting at the table and looking out the window, one of the room’s disposable coffee cups between his hands. Castiel doesn’t like the nervous edge to him when Dean looks back at him, eyes wide as if he was caught setting ants on fire with a magnifying glass.

“Are you –” He starts and stops, looking down at the little cup before he points at the travel mug. “I made you coffee.”

Castiel crosses the room and ignores the coffee, choosing instead to tilt Dean’s face up as he leans down to kiss him gently. “Thank you, Dean. Don’t worry, I’m fine. ” He says softly, stepping away just as quickly to pick up the coffee. “Are you ready?”

The smile that fills Dean’s face now is wide, bright and it matches the pleased flush spreading over his cheeks. “Yeah, I’m good to go.” He even whistles as they pack everything into the Impala’s trunk and take to the road again, heading south.

*

They’re only a day away from the border to Mexico, but it takes them over a week to reach their destination. In almost every town that they pass through, one or both of them finds signs of a hunt either by overhearing conversations or reading the newspaper. As hunters, they can’t simply walk away from a potential hunt and it would take too long to contact another hunter to come in. More people could die if that were the case and that doesn’t sit well with either of them.

It’s an unspoken decision between them to deal with every hunt that they come across until they _finally_ reach the border. Castiel has to take over driving while Dean waits until he calls from a gas station to give him a location to fly to. If Dean hadn’t appeared directly in the passenger’s seat, Castiel fears that he might have fallen over immediately upon landing. He gives him a worried look, but Dean returns it with a tired smile and gestures at the road.

Castiel only drives for a few minutes before he glances over again to find Dean fast asleep. Out of respect, he keeps the radio off and carefully avoids all the potholes. He drives as smoothly as possible so no sudden stops or turns will wake him. Just as he’s been over the last several days, Castiel is extremely considerate of Dean. It’s all part of his effort to make it up to him for everything he did when he was upset. Castiel knows he already has Dean’s forgiveness, but he still feels this necessary.

As likely as it is that Dean is aware of what Castiel is doing, he still can’t bring himself to stop – even with every slanted look Dean gives him over the table whenever Castiel picks up the bill at the restaurants. He feels like he should pamper him until Dean knows for sure that Castiel won’t hurt him like that again. The mere fact that Dean was actually worried that Castiel meant the things he said is – it’s too painful to realize he was the one who made Dean feel like that.

With that in mind, Castiel has been taking them out to eat for almost every meal despite his own predilections, because he knows Dean likes trying new places and new things. It’s how Dean determines his preferences. So far, Dean seems to be showing quite the attachment to diners with dinners that are the closest they can get to a home cooked meal while on the road. Which is nice, but Castiel still misses being the one to make what they eat.

While he follows the map they printed out with the highlighted route to the town nearest the coordinates they got from Charlie, Castiel’s mind continues to drift over everything that has happened in the last week. They seem to be kissing more and he’s lost track of who initiates it, but at least a handful of times now they’ve both ended up hard because they started – well, Dean called what they were doing _‘grinding’_. As pleasant as it is, Castiel is still rather skittish of actually finishing.

He hates leaving Dean to take care of himself while he showers and finishes himself off each and every time like he promised himself he would. If it’s alright for an angel to masturbate, then Castiel can too. That reasoning has all but completely silenced the little voices in his head and now it’s Castiel’s own nerves that are keeping him from doing anything more with Dean. Despite how he _really_ wants to see and experience what it would be like to come by Dean’s hand – or better yet, see Dean come by _his_ hand – Castiel is, for lack of a better word, _afraid_.

And he can’t figure out _why_.

It’s been preoccupying his thoughts almost every time he lets his mind wander. If he isn’t focused on a hunt or a specific task at hand, then his attention gets sucked into a whirlpool of obscene imagery that makes it very difficult to think about anything else.

“What’er you thinking about?”

Castiel nearly swerves the car in surprise and glances over at Dean. He’s still slumped into the corner of the door and his seat, head tilted back against the window as he watches him from under hooded eyes. “How long have you been awake?”

“Few minutes.” Dean yawns, slowly pulling himself upright. “You looked like you were thinking deep thoughts or something. How long have I been out?”

“I’m always thinking.” He sniffs, turning back to the road to keep an eye out for a turn off that will take them further inland. “It’s been a few hours. How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Could go for some coffee, maybe. We got anything to eat?” Dean unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to kneel on the seat, looking into the back for their cooler. “You want anything?”

Regardless of any answer, Dean still hands Castiel an opened granola bar and has a bottle of water for him when he buckles himself back in. He munches on a bag of chips rescued from the snack bag and squints out the windshield at their surroundings. Castiel isn’t sure anymore if Dean eats for pleasure or for hunger. The answer worries him. If flying by himself puts him out for this long, how far has Dean truly Fallen? He hasn’t been using his powers to help Castiel sleep at night, he knows that much.

*

Dean is the only one between them who can properly pronounce the name of the town when they finally reach it at nightfall. He speaks fluently with the gas station attendant when they stop to fill up the Impala. When he comes back to grab the map, Castiel follows him back inside to use the facilities. By the time he’s done, Dean is back in the driver’s seat and frowning at the map.

“What’s wrong?”

“This.” Dean shoves the paper back into his hands and points at the little arrow that marks their destination. “According to our pal Jorge, _that_ is a Mayan-era temple. Our tablet is inside.”

Castiel shrugs and tucks the map away into the glove box. “How is that a problem?”

“It’s a historical site and under guard twenty-four-seven.” He grumbles, pulling them back out onto the road in search of a place to spend the night.

“We’ve snuck by guards before.”

He doesn’t mention that during that specific hunt they were disguised as security guards. That might be a little harder to pull off in Mexico where they stand out more than usual. A month ago he would’ve suggested that Dean fly in and take a look in the middle of the night, but even if they hide outside to minimize the distance, Castiel doesn’t want to risk having him pass out afterwards.

Dean snorts a laugh and gives him a wry smile. Castiel rolls his eyes and slouches in his seat slightly. “Fine. Do you have any other suggestions?”

“They do day tours.” Dean rocks to one side to get a pamphlet out of his back pocket and hands it over. “The next one is in two days. If we nab ourselves a couple tickets, we can make a date out of it and walk in all legal like. How’s that sound?”

It sounds fine and Castiel is happy for a day off. He doesn’t even mind that they end up spending it in the nice air conditioning of their room cleaning their guns and sharpening the knives. They haven’t done that in ages and there’s a certain calming rhythm to it that Castiel enjoys. They even make a few more trays of rock salt shells and Dean takes the time to refill the magazines for their handguns.

The highlight of the day is when the radio station they’ve been listening to enters Old Rock Hour and some of Dean’s favourite songs start to play. All sense of cleaning and organizing their belongings is shot to hell when Dean starts singing along. It gets more hectic when he pulls Castiel to his feet and all but forces him to dance around with him. The best that Castiel does is shuffle his feet and sway while he sings along quietly, trying not to laugh as Dean pulls him around the room.

It’s silly, but fun and something Castiel thinks they both need to have from time to time. They don’t actually get back to the task at hand after that. Instead, Dean insists that they go out and earn a little extra spending money for the tour tomorrow morning. They spend a good portion of the night gambling at various bar games and return to their hotel room with their pockets full of pesos.

When the sun comes up the next morning, it finds them both standing outside the touring company, eyeing up the prices listed on a poster stapled to the back wall. When Castiel reaches for his wallet, Dean grabs his wrist to stop him.

“Let me get this one, Cas. You’ve been paying for everything.”

Castiel gives him a small smile and pulls his hand free. “It’s fine, Dean. Save your money for if the Impala breaks down or something.”

“Bite your _tongue_.” Dean hisses, clearly affronted that Castiel would suggest that he let their car fall into disrepair even slightly.

He only smiles wider and hands over the necessary money to the clerk. They get their wristbands and join the group gathering around the bus that will take them to the site. When midday rolls around, Castiel has thanked the stars for sunblock and bottled water a hundred times over. Trekking through the jungle is far from fun when not properly outfitted and Castiel is mildly bitter that Dean hasn’t once looked remotely ruffled by the humidity, the bugs, or the hike. He hasn’t even broken a _sweat_ and Castiel slightly hates him for it.

As much of an experience as it is to get to hike through ancient ruins, and Castiel does spend hours completely fascinated by everything he sees, the entire trip is a bust for them. They’re not even a whole sixty seconds inside the carefully roped off sections of the temple before Dean leans over and whispers that he can read the tablet from where he’s standing and it’s nothing more than the remains of a prayer. Castiel can’t bring himself to be _completely_ disappointed.

When they return to the hotel, Castiel’s feet are aching inside his completely non-hiking regulation boots and he can’t remember the last time he walked so much. He flops on his belly over the first bed he comes across when they stumble into the hotel room and mumbles something about turning up the AC. While Dean putters around the room, Castiel toes off his boots and contemplates the possibility of taking a hot bath to soothe his aches and pains. The thought of _heat_ is immediately unattractive to him, but taking a cold shower is equally unappealing.

He isn’t expecting Dean to lift his hand and place a cell phone in it. “Call Balthazar and Sam.”

Castiel turns his head to rest his cheek on the blanket, giving Dean a weak glare while he holds down the speed dial. Balthazar’s phone goes to voicemail and he hangs up, trying Sam’s phone next. That one picks up just before the voicemail does.

“Hi, Cas. Sorry Balthazar missed your call. We’re digging.”

“In this heat?” He mutters, wincing on their behalf. They should be on the opposite side of the country right now, closer to the coast than they are, if he remembers their list right. “I hope you’re hydrated.”

“He said you’d say that.” Sam laughs and there’s a string of curses in the background. “Where are you guys now?”

Castiel drags a pillow down the bed to tuck under his chest as he puts the phone on speaker, leaving it laying on the covers. “Our hotel. The tablet in the temple wasn’t one of ours. We’re going to be heading back to Illinois tomorrow to book a flight to China.”

“It’s just _ground_ , Cassie!” Balthazar whines, apparently having stolen the phone from Sam. “There’s no underground cavern like you lucked out with. We have to _excavate_.”

“Poor princesses.” Dean laughs, coming back from the fridge with two cold bottles of water. “Want us to drive over and help your sorry asses?”

“What do you even _see_ in him, Cassi–” He cuts himself off as Castiel gives a pleased moan of surprise when Dean slides the water bottle over the back of his neck, using it to push the collar of his shirt down a little. “Are you _kidding me_?” Balthazar nearly shrieks into the phone. “Do you _have_ to do that while we’re on the phone? Get your hands off my brother!”

“I’m not touching him.” Dean sounds far too smug for his own good. Castiel would give him a warning look if he wasn’t absolutely reveling in the feel of a chilled bottle being rubbed across the small of his back where his shirt rode up when he dropped onto the bed. “He’s basking in the glory of the condensation on a bottle of water.”

Without thinking, Castiel pushes himself up on his knees enough to completely rid himself of his t-shirt. “I hate this heat.” He points out and the moment he lays down again, Dean rolls the bottle along his spine and Castiel nearly moans again, his toes curling in his socks.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if you were closer to the coast.” Sam sounds distant. They must be on speaker now for him to be hearing too. “We’ve got a nice breeze coming through the trees.”

“Oh yes.” Balthazar spits in annoyance. “It’s absolutely _spiffy_ if you don’t take into account the bloody sun baking the back of our necks. I don’t see why you can’t just look into the ground or something? Why do we have to dig when you have Superman’s x-ray vision?”

The defeated tone to his voice makes Castiel think this is a conversation they’ve had more than once since they started digging. Judging by how their bickering starts almost immediately, he’s probably right. Dean says their goodbyes for him and flips the phone shut with one hand while sliding the water bottle down over the side of Castiel’s neck. The bed shifts as Dean leans down and licks away the moisture left across one of his shoulders.

“Go take a shower.” He murmurs, leaning over Castiel to slowly lay a line of licks and kisses to his other shoulder. Every kiss is prefaced with a moment of hesitation as he pushes the boundaries a little more. “You’ll feel better afterward.”

“I don’t want to take another cold shower ever again.” Castiel mumbles into his arm, arching his shoulders back into the gentle kisses. They feel almost as nice as the bottle. “How come you’re not affected by the heat?”

Dean kicks off his shoes and sits on the bed next to him. “It’s one of those uncontrollable perks of the halo crowd. Just like how my grace heals me up, it’s keeping me at a normal temperature. I only feel cold to you because you’re all heated up.”

Castiel reaches out blindly and slides his hand up Dean’s arm, pushing his fingers under the rolled sleeve of his over-shirt. He does feel remarkably cooler and Castiel is nearly overwhelmed with the sudden urge to get as close as possible to all the cool skin hiding under Dean’s clothing. For a moment he contemplates it, watching as Dean opens one of the bottles and downs half the contents in a few long gulps. Dean looks back at him with a raised eyebrow as he twists the top back into place.

Since Dean has been doing all the boundary pushing lately, Castiel figures it’s about time that he does some too. The bottles of water get lost to the floor or the bed when Castiel reaches up to slide his fingers through the short hairs at the back of Dean’s neck. A light tug is all it takes to pull him down into a slow kiss. He slips his hand under the collar of Dean’s shirt and the skin under his palm is definitely cooler than his own.

“What’er you up to, Cas?” Dean murmurs against his lips as Castiel’s hands take a trek all their own down Dean’s back and sides.

He doesn’t bother to answer him. His hands tingle with the touch of Dean’s wings as he moves them over his shoulder blades, fingers hooking in his shirt to drag it up his back. Dean catches the hint when his shirts start bunching under his arms and he leans away to remove them. Castiel pulls him right back down, finding Dean’s mouth again and licking his way inside with a hunger that surprises him.

Of everything they’ve done – and will likely do – Castiel is positive that kissing Dean will always be his favourite thing to do between them. Every chaste kiss; every long, wet kiss with tongues sliding together as they map out each other’s mouths; every kiss that isn’t so much a kiss as it is teeth catching on lips, pulling and nipping and licking. There are so many variations and every single one of them leaves him breathless and craving more.

When Dean lays down next to him, there’s miles of cool skin under Castiel’s hands and he can hardly hold them still. His palms chart Dean’s spine and skip across his ribs while his fingertips skim over his stomach and chest. He spends an excruciatingly long time tracing the raised edges of his handprint on Dean’s shoulder, enraptured with every shiver and sigh it garners. This is a first for them and for once, Castiel doesn’t mind being half naked with him. It’s delightful, actually. The more comfortable he gets with Dean, the less his upbringing in two Church-run orphanages and the seminary affects him.

“I know what you’re doing.” Dean whispers between kisses. His hands haven’t strayed once from where one is twisted in Castiel’s hair and the other cups his face, thumb rubbing over his skin.

Castiel leans his forehead against Dean’s and takes a few moments to breathe, opening his eyes slowly. “What am I doing?”

“Spoiling me.” He answers simply, a wolfish grin spreading over his lips. “Not that I don’t like being spoiled, but you don’t need to do it, y’know? I forgave you and everything. There’s nothing for you to try and make up for.”

Of course Dean would have realized what Castiel was doing. It’s not like he wasn’t glaringly obvious – especially those few times he folded Dean’s clothing for him. He shifts slightly, pressing closer and tangling their legs together. Should he try denying this? Or admit to it?

“Did I make a mistake with trying to make it up to you?”

“Not really, no. It’s fine.” Dean’s voice turns teasing and his hand slips lower, fingertips drawing lazy designs over Castiel’s collarbone. “But weren’t you trying to teach me how to eat in moderation so I don’t get fat when I’m human? I kinda miss you being a hardass about what I eat and making sure I pick up my clothes and stuff.”

He huffs and prods Dean’s stomach with a measure of affection. “Your diet can’t remain the same when you’re human. Too many hamburgers is going to kill you.”

A wide grin spreads across Dean’s face and he kisses Castiel softly. “I’ll keep that in mind. But you really don’t have to spoil me anymore. Everything’s totally kosher between us, Cas. Well, it is on my side.” He leans back, looking a little unsure; a little nervous. “Yours?”

Castiel smiles too.  “I’m – yes, Dean. It's fine on my side too.”

“Good.” He kisses Castiel again. “Then go back to being normal-Cas now.”

“You forgot to put the cap on the toothpaste this morning.” Castiel chuckles softly and smiles into the kisses Dean continues to press to his lips, his chin and his cheeks. He pokes him in the stomach again. “Don’t forget it next time.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but his smile is fond and he stops Castiel from continuing with anything more by kissing him soundly. He rolls into Castiel, sliding his hand down his side to rest on his hip. Castiel spreads his hands over Dean’s shoulder blades, shivering with the electric feel of his wings passing through them. They haven’t talked about what will happen to his wings when Dean Falls, but that’s something to think about at another time.

He can’t think about things like that when Dean’s mouth moves to his throat. Dean swipes his tongue into the dip of his collarbone and it makes Castiel tilt his head back, baring more for Dean to scrape his teeth across in teasing nips and licks. Castiel shivers and digs his nails into Dean’s skin, breath coming faster when Dean starts to gently rock their hips together.

This is nothing new. They’ve done this all before – though they were always completely clothed then. Castiel can handle this and he’s almost certain he could handle more if Dean would just try for it. But here is where Dean doesn’t push. He keeps to what they’ve done before, only going so far as what Castiel has done himself – even if, more often than not, he does them unconsciously during moments like this.

Castiel can handle more and he _wants_ more. But with Dean continuously occupying his mouth with deep, wet kisses that steal his ability to breathe, it’s very hard to get the words out to ask for it. He groans when the friction against the front of his pants sends lightning through his veins.

By now he would normally pull back and they would finish separately. That’s not what he wants to do today. Right now he wants – he wants – he _wants_ Dean’s hands on him. His fingertips slip over Dean’s shoulder, following his arm to his hand and gripping his wrist. Immediately, Dean stops moving and his kisses start to slow until they stop completely. He pulls back and rests their foreheads together again, lifting himself just enough so their hips aren’t pressing together anymore. Castiel’s lips tingle and all he can taste on his tongue is Dean.

“Too – too much?” Dean asks in a murmur.

“Not enough.” He whispers, pulling Dean’s hand from his hip and guiding it to the front of his jeans, pressing it down against the erection straining against the zipper. Castiel muffles a groan in the back of his throat and squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his hips to hold still or end up rocking into Dean’s hand.

Dean sits up and looks down between them. He flexes his fingers and glances up at Castiel with wide eyes and a hopeful smile. “Are you sure? You’re not just doing this to –”

“I promised you I’d think about it, and I’ve thought about it.” Castiel lets go of Dean’s hand and turns his over, pressing his palm up against the front of Dean’s pants too. “This isn’t me trying to make it up to you. This is – this is because I _want_ to.”

The kiss Dean gives him is slow and gentle, and it does nothing to distract from how he runs the heel of his hand over the front of Castiel’s jeans. He groans into the kiss and this time he rocks his hips up into the touch. It’s good, but not enough and Dean won’t know what more to do until Castiel does it. This time the moan comes from Dean when Castiel brings his other hand in, working to blindly undo Dean’s pants. What takes him two hands to do, Dean does with one.

Castiel gasps into the kiss when Dean’s fingers slip beneath the stiff fabric of his jeans, stroking him over his underwear a few times before slipping underneath the band and pulling it away. It’s hard to focus on trying to get Dean’s pants open when he’s distracted by cool air on his erection and feather light fingertips tracing the length of it. He pushes up into Dean’s hand and bites back a whimper when Dean sits back on his knees, taking his kisses with him.

Dean pulls Castiel’s hands away from where he’s still trying to pull down the zipper of his pants. “Let me take care of you first, okay?”

“What?” He frowns, watching as Dean finishes undoing his own pants. “But I want to –”

“I know you do.” Dean straddles his thighs and leans over him again. “But I’ve been thinking about this _way_ longer than you have, so just let me have my fun.” He takes Castiel’s hand again and lifts it to his shoulder, pressing it down against the mark he left there. “You just hold on to that, okay?”

Castiel flexes his fingers, shifting them to line up with the print. He can easily remember every word of the night Dean told him what he wanted to do with him. His heart starts beating harder in his chest and Castiel glances down between them where he’s the only one exposed.

“Dean.” He says softly, biting his bottom lip and looking up at him again. “You know that we’re not going to go _that_ far today, right?” He’s ready to touch and be touched, but he’s not sure when he’s ever going to be ready to take that extra step further.

“I know.” Dean smiles and he fits his palm to Castiel’s cheek, thumb tugging his lip out from under his teeth. “We’re only going as far as you’re ready. But I want to feel you light up while I still can. Is that –” He suddenly looks unsure of himself. “Is that okay?”

Nodding, Castiel squeezes the mark and waits for Dean to drop whatever barrier he has in place. Heat flares up his arm without warning, tingling through muscle, bone, and blood. It’s not as strong a feeling as the first – and last – time Castiel had felt Dean’s grace, but it’s still warm and wanting and _aching_ with love. It’s easily the best thing Castiel has ever felt and he gasps in surprise, head tilting back into the pillow. There’s a groan above him and Dean’s forehead drops to rest against his clavicle.

“Holy shit.” Dean whispers, his voice ragged and trembling.

It sends shivers down Castiel’s spine and he pulls Dean into another kiss, licking past his lips to try and taste what he can hear. Dean muffles a moan into the kiss and shifts his weight to reach between them. His fingers are warm around Castiel’s erection as he feels him out. He sets a slow pace at first, spreading pre-come to ease the slide of his fingers. The moment Castiel rolls his hips up into the loose grip, Dean tightens his hold, increases the speed, and does something with his thumb under the head of his penis that’s like a crackle of electricity through his core.

But it doesn’t even hold a candle to the sensation of Dean’s grace brushing through him. There’s nothing that can compare to the heat of it and being able to know _exactly_ what Dean feels. It’s like a tidal wave washing over him, swallowing him whole. Castiel comes faster than he ever has during his showers over the last few weeks, almost embarrassingly soon. Dean slips his free arm under Castiel’s back and nearly lifts him off the bed, hungrily swallowing every sound he makes as he shudders through his orgasm.

He lays Castiel against the bed slowly, letting him breathe as he drops kisses along his chin and chest until he can sit back on his knees again. Castiel’s hand slips from his shoulder, dropping to rest across his stomach. As soon as the connection breaks, Castiel feels empty without Dean’s grace blazing around him. His arms tingle from the touch of Dean’s wings and he vaguely wonders if they’ve been around him the whole time.

When he finally opens his eyes, Castiel finds Dean regarding his hand and the mess on it. For a moment it looks like he’s going to actually lick his fingers clean. Castiel reaches up slowly and pulls it away. Dean looks briefly disappointed, but he leans over and grabs one of their discarded shirts to wipe clean both his fingers and Castiel’s stomach. It’s a ticklish, cautious movement and Castiel closes his eyes, lightly squeezing Dean’s wrist.

“Was that okay?” Dean asks softly. “It wasn’t too much?”

His tongue feels too heavy to answer with words, but Castiel feels very much _okay_. Everything feels so… _nice_. His limbs tingle and his heart is still beating hard in his chest, slowly calming down. He manages a small nod and a smile that feels lopsided and loose. Whatever his smile is, it makes Dean grin and lean down to kiss him.

“You look good like this, Cas.” He murmurs into the kiss and spreads a hand over Castiel’s stomach. “Do you want me to tuck you in?”

Castiel shakes his head and pushes Dean’s hands away. He does his pants up again himself and props himself up on shaky elbows. “Switch places with me.”

Dean goes still and flushes red. “Cas, you don’t have to –”

“I _want_ to.” He sits up and presses his hand to the erection tenting the front of Dean’s boxer shorts. His blood starts to race again and everything feels numb, his skin prickling delightfully. He doesn’t even think about what he’s about to do as he pushes Dean over and pulls his boxers out of the way, finally getting his hands on him properly.

“It’s your turn, Dean.” Castiel’s voice is rough and it’s almost enough to scare him just how much he wants to try this. He wants to see what Dean looks like, sounds like, and tastes like throughout. What will his grace feel like when it’s burning with his own orgasm?

He finds out not more than a few minutes later. Dean is unhindered and loud, gasping and grasping at Castiel’s arm. When Dean spills over his fingers, he isn’t the only one crying out. What blazes through their connection when he squeezes Dean’s shoulder is a cacophony of sensations that exceed well beyond the physical plane. Castiel can’t describe them, can barely even think while Dean’s grace surges through him again and he’s filled with every ounce of _Dean_.

It’s a struggle to breathe when he finally breaks the connection. His fingers tremble and his whole hand tingles like it’s fallen asleep. He teeters on his knees before falling to the side, breathing hard into the blanket. Dean’s smiling at the ceiling, his eyes closed and one hand thrown over his forehead. Castiel’s hands shake when he wipes them clean on the used t-shirt. He just barely remembers to clean Dean’s stomach too before he throws the shirt to the floor.

There’s a number of feelings warring through him now. Something almost akin to guilt is buoying for superiority and Castiel shoves it back, fighting against it. _Nothing_ about what he just did with Dean is anything to feel guilty or shameful about. He’s happy and he clings to that just as much as he worms his way into place against Dean’s side. Dean takes a moment to do up his pants again before he turns into Castiel and wraps him in his arms and wings.

“You doing okay?” He asks, whispering against Castiel’s ear.

“Yes.” The answer comes automatically – maybe a little too quickly.

Dean smiles and runs a hand through his hair. “Do I need to remind you that God doesn’t care about what we just did? This was just us. No Church, no God, and _nothing_ sinful.”

Castiel shakes his head and winds his arms around Dean’s waist, hugging him close. “It’s fine. I’m fine. We’re fine.”

“That’s a lot of fine.” He laughs and his fingertips drag deftly over Castiel’s scalp. “Just don’t think about it too much, okay?”

Nodding, Castiel breathes deep the scent of the sun and storms from Dean’s skin and presses himself closer to his chest. Maybe if he manages to get close enough, he won’t think about the vows he just broke and how much of his upbringing he went against. Focusing on the sound of Dean’s breathing and the beat of his heart against his cheek does wonders, and Castiel finds himself lulled into a nap.

*

“It’s another fucking calendar, isn’t it?” Balthazar’s angry voice echoes through the phone and Castiel winces while Dean tries not to laugh. “It better say the world is ending _right now_ or I’m going to take my shovel and –”

“Sorry.” Sam raises his voice to speak over Balthazar’s angry ranting. “We’re a bust over here too. We’re supposed to be heading to Sudan after this.”

Castiel pulls his list out of the glove box. “Apparently we’re going to be heading to China. Balthazar, take your car to Illinois. We’re going to be leaving the Impala in a storage garage by all my things. Since Dean _refuses_ to leave it unattended at the rectory.”

“With all those construction crews, she’s gonna get damaged if we leave her there.” Dean whines, sliding down in his seat a little. “You’re just jealous that she’s my baby.”

Balthazar gives a violent barking laugh, but Sam talks over him again, arranging with Castiel for a time and place to meet in Illinois. They decide on the same motel they stayed at before they left and Castiel ends the call to return to the planning he’d been doing before he’d been interrupted. Before they left wifi coverage, Castiel downloaded documents about his finances from his banking website and has spent the last several miles going over them.

With setting aside how much it’s going to cost to rebuild his home – with extra room for Dean and Sam – it’s going to cost him a pretty penny and he most definitely does not have that kind of money. Not with all the rezoning and everything that he’s going to have to do to build a second floor. By the looks of things, he’s going to have to take out a second mortgage to be able to afford this.

“I don’t know why you’re worrying about all that.” Dean says a short while later, after Castiel has done nothing but stare at the rows of numbers. “It won’t matter much if we don’t find these tablets and close the doors before the Hunter’s moon.”

“Having a home and worrying about finances is about the only _normal_ thing I have in my life right now. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the only thing keeping me sane.” Castiel sighs and changes screens to look at a projected budget he was working on yesterday. “And if I don’t worry about this now, then I’ll have to worry about it after we’ve saved the world and I’d really rather _not_ have any worries at that point. By then I just want to be able to return to my old life and relax.”

After a few minutes of silence, Dean turns the radio down. “You know you’re not going to be able to do that, right? Your old life is long gone, Cas.”

He looks at Dean in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve got me, and Sam, and your dick of a brother now. He’s probably going to be hanging around more often.” Dean glances at him with a small, tentative smile. “Life was changing before the fire, and it’s going to be completely different once we finally get to go home.”

Castiel closes the laptop and reaches across the seat to take Dean’s hand, linking their fingers and squeezing it. “I know.”

It’s a life he’s looking forward to. He liked having his home full of voices and laughter. The ‘old life’ he’d been referring to was the one he’d gotten used to during the holidays. That’s the life he wants to go back to – a time when they didn’t worry about the apocalypse and were able to just _relax_ and be themselves and have fun. A busy home life and handling the Church – that’s his heaven.

*

Before heading to the motel, Dean takes the car by the rectory and the Church because Castiel _insists_ on it. He wants to see how the rebuilding of the Church is proceeding. His home is still partly rubble, but at least it’s covered up and closed off. The hallway that had been connecting it to the Church is completely torn down and a new fence separates the two properties. Only the framework for the new Church has been erected and Castiel sneaks into the construction site, completely ignoring Dean’s protests.

He has to make sure they’re doing a good job and using proper materials. Dean finds it more than a little amusing when Castiel spends ten minutes complaining about their choice of wood – set aside, covered and likely going to be used for detailing on the inside of the Church. If he’d been in charge, he would’ve used a much nicer wood and he could’ve spent _weeks_ carving it to actually make the interior look nice instead of so utilitarian.

“How long am I going to have to listen to you bitch about the Church?” Dean asks as they drive away.

Castiel glares at him and crosses his arms over his chest. He huffs and looks out the window. It’s not a topic he wants to fight about and Castiel decides on a strategic change of topic. “We don’t have enough money for two plane tickets to China _and_ food and lodgings.”

“Then we’ll get a motel room and spend the next few days raising the money for the trip. Between the two of us it shouldn’t be so hard. We could rake in a couple hundred a night _at least_.” Dean shrugs and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “And we could always just get a fake credit card like Balthazar has. That could probably cover us for the flights and the rest would be spending money.”

“I hate fake credit cards.” Castiel sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let’s just find a place to sleep for the night and tomorrow we can – I don’t know, we’ll scam as many bastards as we can. There are plenty of bars where we can find them. If we split up, we can hit twice as many and bring in twice as much.”

A small, slow smile spreads across Dean’s lips and he nods. “Yeah, okay.”

“We’ll do that tomorrow. Tonight we’ll get settled at the motel and get some sleep.”

Despite saying that, Castiel isn’t expecting Dean to come back to the motel the next evening with several thousand dollars in a duffle bag and a wide, shit-eating grin. He dumps the bundles of bills out onto the bed and gestures at it proudly.

“D’you think that’ll get us to China?”

Castiel picks up one of the bundles and turns it over in his hand. “Where did you get all this?”

“You went to a bar, I went to a casino.” Dean drops onto the other bed and stretches out, clearly pleased with himself. “I did it completely legal like, if you don’t count the _tiny_ amount of mojo I used to rig the machine I was at.”

“Well, this will certainly last us. I nearly got a grand from doubling up at pool.” He takes his own wad of bills out of his bag and adds them to the pile on the bed. “With this, we should have plenty to get to China and put us up for a few nights. If we need more, we can always try gambling there.”

Dean shrugs and digs his beeping cell phone out of his pocket. “We probably shouldn’t walk around with that kind of cash on us. You gonna take it to the bank tomorrow?”

“I guess I’ll have to.” He sighs and starts stacking them into the extra duffle again. “I hope Sam and Balthazar will have enough money for their trip too.”

“You can ask them yourself.” Dean waves his cell phone at him. “We’re having company tonight. They don’t want to get another room.”

Castiel shrugs and moves the bags off the bed. “Does Sam sleep yet?”

“He’d have said something if he was.” He frowns at his phone and puts it away again.

Dean hasn’t mentioned to Sam that he’s started sleeping on and off during the nights recently. It only started a few days ago, while they were still in Mexico. The first time it happened, it was a surprise to them both. He had fallen asleep while Castiel was sleeping and the first movement Castiel made had startled Dean awake hard enough that it woke him too. So far he hasn’t shown any sign of being sleepy while driving, but Castiel insisted on switching spots every time they stopped for a bathroom or to fill up the gas tank.

They don’t have long to wait before Sam and Balthazar crash their room. At least they bring food with them and Dean finds a good movie on the TV. For one night, they’re a family again and the small room is filled with laughter and bickering. Especially when it comes time to go to sleep and Balthazar gets snippy at the fact that Dean crawls into bed with Castiel.

“Hey, when I fall asleep, I like to be comfortable.” Dean snaps back and quite obviously tucks himself against Castiel’s back, throwing an arm around his waist for good measure. “And Cas is the most comfortable thing in this room, so you can _suck it._ ”

Sam has set himself up with the laptop at the table. He doesn’t say anything to Dean’s quasi-announcement to his new habit of falling asleep at random intervals during the night. He does look up, concern creasing his forehead, but he looks away shortly after. Castiel thinks there’s going to be a conversation between him and Dean tomorrow that’s going to be either in Enochian or in several languages that he isn’t going to understand. They’ll need their privacy for it and Castiel will have to make sure that he and Balthazar aren’t around.

The next day he leaves Dean and Sam together at the motel under the guise of taking Balthazar to the bank to deposit the money and needing to run a few errands. None of which Dean actually wants to join him on. Balthazar doesn’t seem entirely keen on it either, but he uses their time together to attempt to teasingly pry into their relationship.

Balthazar returns to the motel with him later, utterly disappointed. Castiel didn’t say a word about what he’s done with Dean or where they are in their sex life. Dean and Sam are huddled together at the laptop, watching something together that Castiel doesn’t quite understand. There’s swords and shouting and he loses interest in the few seconds that he was looking over Dean’s shoulder. As long as they’re not upset at each other, Castiel is happy.

With the new money in his account, Castiel commandeers the extra laptop to book the tickets to China. Sam already has the tickets to Sudan bought and paid for with a fake credit card he’s maxed out and thrown in the trash. Their flight leaves a few days after the one that Castiel books. He and Dean are going to have to fly to the west coast first and from there they’ll be transferring to an overseas flight.

The goodbyes between them when Castiel and Dean finally leave all are long and a little sad. Castiel can’t recall the last time he was so far from Balthazar and none of them know when they’ll see each other again. They won’t even be able to call each other as easily, since their cell phones will be all but useless overseas. Their main lines of communication will be e-mails until all of them can return home.

It’s very nearly a tearful goodbye, but Balthazar ruins it when he shakes Dean’s hand, claps him on the shoulder and looks him in the eye. “If you’re going to deflower my little brother, at least do it somewhere _romantic_. Make it the best night of his life or I will _end you_.”

Well, at least he’s stopped threatening Dean with bodily harm for so much as touching Castiel. Balthazar has more or less accepted that Dean isn’t going anywhere, and Castiel is proud of him for it. But he still feels a blush in his ears while he goes through airport security with Dean.

*

Dean’s grip on his hand is tight enough that Castiel can feel the bones grinding together. It hasn’t started to hurt, but it’s not exactly comfortable. He says nothing about it as Dean stares out the wall of windows before them, his knee bouncing nervously while he chews at his bottom lip. The flight from Illinois to the west coast had not been a pleasant one.

“I find it hard to believe that you’re afraid of flying.” Castiel murmurs, using his free hand to navigate the menus on his phone. Their connecting flight will be boarding in fifteen minutes and he has one last phone call to make before they get into the line.

“I’m not afraid of flying. I can do that with my eyes closed. But if man was meant to fly, God would have given him _wings_.” Dean hisses, squeezing Castiel’s hand. His unblinking stare out the window is unnerving. “Planes are unnatural steel cages of flying _death_.”

While the phone rings, Castiel contemplates how effective a sleep aide would be for an angel. He’s never attempted giving Dean medication before, but now that he’s partially-Fallen, it might have some kind of effect on him. If it doesn’t put him to sleep, it might calm him down enough that Dean doesn’t accidentally break Castiel’s hand during the long flight from here to China.

The click of the line picking up distracts him from his thoughts. “Hello?”

“Hello, Chuck.” Castiel spares a glance at Dean. “This is Castiel. How are you doing?”

“Oh, uh, hi Cas. I knew you were gonna call, I didn’t know _when_ though.” There’s the shuffling sound of papers in the background and the crash of something hitting the floor. “Shit. I – sorry, I shouldn’t swear in front of a priest.”

Smiling, Castiel squeezes Dean’s hand. “You know the company I keep. I don’t mind it.”

“Right, right. I’m, um, I’m doing good. I guess. Been busy. But you know that.”

“How are you handling the visions and the translating?” At the mention of the tablets, Dean glances at him. Even though his eyes are still impossibly wide, he manages to raise one of his eyebrows in a curious little gesture.

Chuck clears his throat. “About the same as I always have. Translating between writing out the visions. It’s slow going, but it’s working. I had a vision about this call yesterday, actually. You’re calling to check up on the translating to try and distract Dean from the next flight, right? Am I a bad person if I say I thought it was funny how he freaked out during the first plane ride?”

Dean makes a face and looks away, slouching in his seat. At least his hearing still seems to be top-notch. Castiel squeezes his hand in apology. “Don’t worry about it.” He doesn’t know who he’s saying that to – Dean or Chuck. Not that it matters. “Have you made much progress with the translations?”

“I think so. I mean, it’s hard to tell with this stuff.” He sounds exhausted and Castiel briefly hates how they’re using him. They’re going to run the poor writer right into his grave if they keep this up. “What I’m translating right now is, I think, step one in a set of three trials? It’s not straight cut, y’know. Metatron wrote everything on this thing out of order so I’ve got to make sense out of it. He really didn’t want people being able to read this easily.”

“Metatron was a douche.” Dean mutters under his breath.

Castiel rolls his eyes and looks toward the growing line where they’re going to be boarding. “We’re going to be out of range for the next while. Can you email us any progress that you make?”

“Yeah, sure. Maybe Sam or Dean can figure out what the hell this is all about.” Chuck sighs and more papers get shuffled around in the background. “I think your boarding call is coming up, isn’t it? You should get going. It’ll take a lot to convince Dean to actually get on the plane again.”

“No it won’t.” Dean mumbles, turning a glare on Castiel’s phone. “I’m an _angel_. I can handle a little _flying_ – even if it’s in a… tin… can…” He trails off and turns a few shades paler before he looks away again, licking his lips and staring at the lineup.

A nervous chuckle passes through the phone line. “Good luck, Cas. You guys are going to need it.”


	17. Trials and Tribulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This feels strangely like when Castiel had to get Balthazar back from Meg. He nods and meets their eyes in turn, ending with Dean. “I promise I’ll come back.” Castiel leaves off the _‘to you’_ , but he hopes Dean reads it in his eyes. He must, because Dean takes a quick step forward and kisses him soundly, not caring about the annoyed huff Victor makes behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Pappcave's Reverse!Verse](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/Papp%27s-reverse%21verse). Papp has written a few things for it already (found at the link above) - part of Castiel's past included. 
> 
> And he was nice enough to do extra art for this fic too! Go give him some love!
> 
>  
> 
> **Updates the 15th and 30th of every month until the story is complete.**
> 
>  
> 
> **For chapter statuses and information, please[check here.](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hunting+for+faith)**

It feels good to be back on American soil. Of course it would be better if Dean didn't all but _run_ from the plane into the terminal every time they landed. After a few months of travelling around Asia, Russia and with one very long detour to Australia, Castiel has long discovered the blessing that sleep aides really _do_ work on a mostly-Fallen angel.

Unfortunately, on their return trip, Dean wasn’t able to take one during the flight from the coast to Illinois. Castiel has the bruises on his hand to prove to Balthazar and Sam just how well Dean takes to flying by plane. He shows them when they pick him and Dean up from the airport. It's a stroke of luck that they've managed to finish both their lists around the same time, though they've been back home for a week already.

“All those planes for one stupid tablet.” Dean grumbles, hefting the only bag they took as carry-on with the tablet inside. He shuffles his feet and glares pointedly when Balthazar snickers. “Y’got something to say, chuckles?”

“Oh no. I’m just very impressed by Cassie's infinite patience.”

Dean snorts and tosses the bottle of sleeping pills at him. “Yeah, _patience_.”

Sam reaches out and catches the bottle in mid-air before it gets near Balthazar. He inspects the label, frowning at it and giving Dean a worried glance that goes ignored before he tucks it away. Castiel is seated near the luggage carrousel, waiting for their checked baggage. He’s absently playing with the rosary hanging under his shirt, pushing the cross back and forth while he stares blankly at the rotating belt of the carrousel.

“Hey, Cas?” Sam steps up next to him and waits for a hum of acknowledgement. “How badly do you want to see the construction? We didn't reserve the motel room past today and we brought both cars and all our stuff. I kind of figured that we could just go straight to Chuck's so we're not carrying around three tablets any longer than we have to.”

He stops playing with the rosary and lets his hand drop. “I would like to at least _see_ the progress they're making. The last update I received said the Church was done and the crew was starting on the rectory.”

Castiel knows that the construction isn't nearly as important as getting the tablets to the safety of Chuck's house, but he can't help being concerned about his home. It's where everyone will be returning to when they're done with all of this and he wants to make sure that it's going to be a decent home for all of them. That's the entire reason why he spent long hours corresponding with the construction company (and a few hunters) to go over the finer aspects of the rectory's new layout (including a secret room in the basement) in between flying from country to country, dealing with demons, and digging up tablets.

“Excuse me.” Balthazar interrupts, dropping into the seat next to Castiel with his phone in hand. “Your dashing genius of a brother foresaw this. We swung by the other day and I took pictures for you. Now tell me you love me.”

Instead, Castiel graces him with a pleased smile and puts him in charge of waiting for their luggage while he flips through the photos. Dean takes Sam’s place next to him and leans against his shoulder, making little appreciative sounds as he looks at the pictures with him. The basement is set, the framework for the rest of the house has been started, and the hunters Castiel had hired took care of building the secret room after hours. It’s all closed up and it doesn’t look like they did anything, but Castiel knows it’s there.

When the house is finally finished, they’re going to have to knock out a part of the wall to make a secret doorway. These extra lengths are annoying, but necessary. Castiel doesn't want the regular contractors asking questions about why a _priest_ , of all people,needs a secret room in the basement.

“So, which bedroom is mine?” Dean teases, keeping his voice low enough that no one but Castiel can hear him in the hubbub of the airport.

His ears start to feel warm and Castiel points to one of the upper corners of the frame work. The rooms aren't quite defined yet, but he's mentioned before that there's only going to be three and he already knows which of the modestly sized rooms is going to be his. Sam and Balthazar can figure it out between themselves which of the other two will be theirs.

“And do you know what kind of bed you're going to put in there?” Dean drops his voice into an even softer whisper, grinning as he bumps their shoulders together.

Before Castiel can answer, Sam clears his throat – likely having overheard everything and blessedly decided to save Castiel from any further blushing. “Did you get Chuck's email this morning?”

“I haven't had the chance to check my email yet.” Castiel stands up, moving away from Dean quickly to hand the phone back to Balthazar. “What did he have to say?”

“He's finished the translation and I told him to expect us in the next couple of days.” Sam leans over and snags one of the bags from the carrousel before Balthazar even sees it.

His grace is still more intact than Dean's and his senses are better, but his ability to fly has suffered over the last few months. The last that Castiel heard was that Sam can do a short solo flight, but it tires him out quite a bit. And he hasn’t started _needing_ to sleep yet, though he does if he wants to.

Balthazar grabs the last bag after checking the tag and gives it to Castiel. “That everything? Great, let's get this show on the road before someone recognizes us and we end up having an unpleasant chat with some demons in the middle of the parking lot.”

“Keys.” Dean holds his hand out to Sam, a delighted grin spreading across his lips. “I've gotta go say 'hi' to my baby girl.”

*

Chuck's expression crumples the moment he opens the bag resting on his coffee table. There are three tablets inside; the only ones that had angelic script on them out of the dozen or so that they had looked at between their two groups. He sighs and takes out one of them, exchanging it on his computer table for some papers that are stapled together. Those he hands to Castiel. It’s a relief to see that they're typed and printed pages instead of Chuck’s chicken scratch.

“I'll just get started on this one, huh?” Chuck mutters, slumping into his chair. “It's just about the only thing I'm good at.”

“Aw, Chucky. Are you feeling unappreciated?” Dean claps him on the shoulders with both hands, rolling his thumbs in a poor massage. “What can we do to make it up to you?”

Balthazar picks up one of the many take-out menus scattered around the house. “What if we spring for supper tonight? I could even run you a bath later.” The sarcasm in that isn’t lost even on Castiel.

“Just keep the demons and angels off my back while I start this.” He taps the tablet and shrugs Dean's hands off. “It'll be, uh, at least a week, maybe, before I'll be able to tell you what any of them mean.” A woeful look is cast back toward the bag and the other tablets. “I'll at least be able to tell you then if one of these has anything to do with heaven. I can't really say how long it'll take me to translate it, though.”

Sam sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I _really_ hope that the heaven tablet is in there. We're done with our lists and we don't have any more leads after that unless we can catch Meg or something and wring other locations out of her.”

“I'm sure it's in there. Charlie is very knowledgeable.” Castiel gives Sam a small smile and looks down at the translation. The first page is all about the weapon they're already well versed in making. “Let's focus on what we have right now. Chuck, do you mind if we stay the rest of the day to work out our plan? We'll leave tonight.”

Chuck shrugs again, already squinting at the tablet. “Sure, why not? The more the merrier.”

“Thank you. Balthazar, order dinner.”

He resists the urge to send someone out for groceries so he can make something healthier than take-out. It would be better for Chuck than another round of Thai or Chinese or pizza. He looks much more haggard than when Castiel first met him and it probably has everything to do with having to translate _and_ suffer through two separate visions that force him to write them. They're running him ragged with these tablets and Castiel feels a pang of guilt over it every time he looks at Chuck.

Castiel takes a seat on the couch with Sam on one side and Dean on the other as they flip through the translations. He isn't concerned with all the little bits of information filling most of the pages. His interest is in the _trials_.

A little over a month ago everyone had received an email from Chuck stating that he was finished translating the first trial he had mentioned to them before. It was barely more than a week ago that he'd sent notice that the second trial had been translated and he was working on the third – which looked to be the last of them.

They had already determined that the trials were going to be what needed to be done to close the doors of hell. Chuck hadn't shared anything specific about them in the emails for security reasons and Castiel's curiosity is all the more reason to flip to the last pages. There's a neat list of the trials there. Just as Chuck had said, there’s only three, but there _is_ a chunk of information at the top and  bottom of the page. The first is a spell he’s supposed to say after he’s finished every trial to officially complete it. That’s simple enough, but Castiel is floored by the trials themselves.

“Step one; bathe in the blood of a hellhound.” Castiel reads out, his voice flat in disbelief. They'll be able to see the hellhound with their holy-fire-burned glasses, but how are they supposed to _find_ one?

“You think that's bad?” Dean grumbles, jabbing at the paper. “Look at number two; rescue an innocent soul from _hell_. How in the fuck are we supposed to get to _hell_ let alone find someone down there who’s actually _innocent._ ”

Sam groans and points at the bottom of the page. “Take a look at number three; _purify a demon_.”

Balthazar looks up from his phone, pausing in the middle of typing in a number. “How in the ever loving hell are we supposed to do that?”

Castiel skims the bottom of the page and sighs in relief. “It says right here that we need the purest of blood, cleansed through confession, to inject into a demon over an eight hour period while saying exorcisms and prayers on hallowed ground. Well, that settles it.”

“That doesn't settle a damn thing.” Dean hisses immediately, sitting back and crossing his arms defiantly.

“Yes. It does.” He gives him a flat, unwavering look. They've been arguing on and off for the last few weeks over who would undertake the trials. The only information Chuck deemed safe enough to give in his emails was that only _one_ person can do them. “Who has purer blood than a _priest_? I could absolve myself of any sins without a confession right now, if I needed to.”

Snorting, Dean gets to his feet. “How about an _angel_? It should be me or Sam.”

“I hate to break it to you, flyboy, but you hardly qualify as an angel anymore.” Balthazar interjects as he puts the phone to his ear. “Now shut the hell up and fight _after_ I've made the order.”

Dean rolls his eyes, scoffs loudly, and starts pacing. He keeps shooting dirty looks at Balthazar's back and more than one of them get directed at Castiel too. For his part, he tries to ignore it, reading over everything on the page until he's certain he could almost recite them from memory if he wanted to. It's better than having a silent battle of wills with Dean.

As soon as the phone beeps with the end of the call, Dean opens his mouth to continue the argument. Sam beats him to it. “I think Cas should do it.”

“Es tu, Sam?” Dean gasps, caught between shock and disbelief. “You've gotta be joking.”

“I know you don’t want to hear it, Dean, but Balthazar is right.” Sam stands to face his brother head on. “You're not much of an angel anymore but you've still got grace in your veins and the trials were written with _humans_ in mind. Using our blood might mess things up and we really can't afford that with this kind of _delicate_ situation.”

Dean's mouth twists in an unhappy frown and he gives Balthazar a pleading look. Clearly he's hoping for some solidarity in his steadfast attempts to keep Castiel out of harm’s way. As much as Castiel appreciates knowing that Dean is still protective of him, this is bigger than their feelings for each other. This concerns the fate of the _world_ , as dramatic as that sounds.

Balthazar has settled himself on the only armchair in the room, his feet kicked up on the coffee table. He raises his hands and shakes his head. “Don't look at me. I've got the most impure blood out of all of you and Cassie would probably die laughing if I tried to do a confessional with him. If he wants to do this, then let him.”

“Well, there we go, Dean.” Sam crosses his arms and stares him down when Dean turns another glare on him. “Would you like us to put it to a vote?”

His upper lip curls back briefly and Castiel braces himself for another angry tirade about how he's fragile and this might kill him and whatever other reasons Dean could come up with. It's a pleasant surprise that Dean lets out a loud sigh and slumps back down on the couch next to him.

“Fine, fucking _fine_. Do whatever the hell you want.”

“It'll be alright.” Castiel says softly, putting his hand over Dean's knee and squeezing. “There's nothing in here about the trials being any more dangerous for me than face value. I can handle a hellhound and we'll take hell and purifying when we get to it.”

Dean huffs again, but he shifts so he’s leaning against Castiel's side. “Are you giving me that one-step-at-a-time bullshit again?” His tone is lighter, but he still doesn't look very happy about being outvoted.

“If it'll work this time, yes.” He pats his leg once more before gesturing at the papers in his hand. “Now, do we have any ideas about how we’re going to find a hellhound?”

*

Dean's disposition doesn't improve through the rest of the evening. He's outvoted yet again when it comes to splitting everything that needs to be done between everyone. Where he thinks they should keep the angel and human combination, the rest of their little group believes it would be better to have him and Sam in charge of catching a demon and preparing the place to take it for the final trial.

It’s decided that while Sam and Dean are off doing that, Castiel and Balthazar will be attempting to undertake trial one on their own before they all regroup for trial two. There had been nearly a solid hour of angry glares while they ate and Castiel has a mental note in the forefront of his mind to apologize _yet again_ for going behind Dean's back that time with the seal. Apparently Dean still hasn't quite forgiven him for that.

Regardless of all the planning they've made, even determining _how_ they're going to get their hands on a hellhound, everyone is still stumped on how to take on trial two. For now, they’ve decided to put thinking about that one aside. They'll consider options privately and do their own research to present when they meet up again after trial one is finished.

Once everything was decided, Castiel had urged them all to relocate to a motel. By then Chuck looked like he was on the verge of falling out of his chair. The alcohol he consumed like he was breathing probably played a large part in that, but he was yawning more than Balthazar had been.

It was already late by the time they found a motel and got a room and Castiel is grateful for it. He can use the late hour and the need to sleep as the perfect excuse to stop Dean from trying to continue the argument about splitting up. He just didn’t expect Dean to follow him into the bathroom.

“You're trying to send me to an early grave.”

Castiel spits into the sink and lifts his head to look at Dean's reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Why would you think that?” He returns to brushing his teeth, stepping aside to give Dean enough space to do the same.

“ _Hellhounds_ , Cas.” Dean digs his toothbrush out of the brown bag on the counter, his rosary swinging violently as he viciously squeezes the toothpaste onto it. “You're taking those fuckers on again and I'm not going to be with you. _Again_.”

“I'll be with Balthazar and we did just fine on our own the first time.” Castiel shrugs, pausing to rinse his mouth out. “I know what I'm doing and I've got the experience with handling them. Will it help if I call you afterwards?”

He nods and gives Castiel a wide-eyed look over his toothbrush, foam already gathering in the corners of his mouth. Castiel can understand why he's so worried. This time Dean won't be able to be at his side in an instant and he certainly won't be able to heal him. As frustrating as Dean is making things now, knowing that he just wants him to be safe sends warmth slip-sliding through Castiel's chest. He smiles and pats Dean on the shoulder as he passes him.

When Dean joins him in the bed, Castiel curls against his side with his head on Dean's shoulder and an arm around his waist. Balthazar is already snoring in the other bed, tired from a day of driving and an evening of drinking. It didn’t help matters that they had some decent Chinese food and that always manages to knock him out. Sam is still awake at the small desk in the room, already researching possibilities for the second trial.

Summer is just around the corner and they have no time to waste anymore. The trials to shut the gates of hell need to be finished as soon as possible so they can get straight to the (theoretical) trials of heaven the moment that Chuck finds and translates that tablet. With the hunter's moon only a few months away, they have no time to waste with just  hanging around together.

Which means that in the morning, they pack up to head their separate ways. Dean and Sam are taking the Impala to find an abandoned church and look into capturing a demon. Castiel is going with Balthazar in his car to find a secluded crossroads and get their things set up.

“You've got the Colt?” Dean asks, dropping his bag in the trunk of the Impala before turning to Castiel.

“Yes, Balthazar carries it on him at all times and we have more than enough of the special bullets that you and Sam prepared for us.” Castiel resists the urge to roll his eyes, regardless if it's fondly or not. This isn’t the first time this morning that Dean has asked this of him.

He hasn't voiced his own worries about how Dean is going to be trying to _imprison_ a demon. Those doubts are a heavy pit in Castiel’s stomach and he doesn't dare say them. Meg has a history of ambushing them. What if she gets wind of what they're trying to do? She knows that Dean and Sam are powered down. With enough demons, she could easily trap them and what would Castiel be able to do for them then?

But he's stomped down on those feelings and he’s forcing himself to trust that Dean can take care of himself. He’ll have Sam with him and they’re both competent fighters with bright, inventive minds. They’ll do just fine on their own and he should really be more worried about himself.

Dean slams the lid of the trunk and gives Castiel a once over, as if he's devoting to memory how he looks now so he can compare any bumps or bruises later. “What about the glasses to see the hellhounds? Have you got those too?”

Castiel pulls them out of an inside pocket of his coat and puts them on without thinking, purely to prove that he does. His confirmation gets caught on his tongue, drowned by the choked noise that comes out in its stead. He can't remember the last time he wore the glasses in Dean's presence, but it's certainly been a long time since he's seen Dean's wings.

All of Castiel's fears about what would happen to them with Dean’s declining grace come crashing back to him in a sickening spin. Dean’s wings were once bright and fierce, gleaming with power and raw strength. The arcs of feathered light behind Dean now are barely a shadow of the wings Castiel first saw. Everything about them that once shined so beautifully have dimmed, like a light bulb on the verge of burning out. They're ragged at the edges and Castiel's heart twists painfully at the sight of them.

His wings are _falling_ _apart_. How badly must this be hurting Dean? Is it a physical sensation that he can actually feel as a part of him withers and dies? Castiel is afraid to look at Sam to see if he’s in a similar state.

As soon as Dean realizes what Castiel is looking at, his wings draw tight against his back, folding as close as they can get. It's just like they did the first time he learned that Castiel could see them with the glasses on, like he's embarrassed by it. Sam told Castiel once that Dean has always been a little prideful of his wings. It's not something that angels are supposed to do, but he used to show off his wings quite a bit in heaven. Apparently they're impressive, even by angel standards.

Despite the shape of his wings now, Dean still squares his shoulders and lifts his chin. “Don't even think for a second that this is your fault.” He pulls the glasses from Castiel's nose and tucks them back inside his jacket. “I don't regret a thing I've done that got them like this. Okay?”

Castiel nods, but the image of Dean's faded wings feels like it's burned behind his eyes. How is he not supposed to feel bad about this? Of course it's not his fault that Dean has Fallen so far, but it feels a lot like it is. It was _Dean's_ choices that lead him to this. He knew Falling was one of the possible consequences of going against heaven. Even so, Castiel can't help feeling a sharp stab of guilt in his stomach and a twist of regret that Dean and Sam are losing such a beautiful part of themselves.

“Before things get _too_ sappy, can I request that we hit the road?” Balthazar calls over the top of his car, one foot already in the door. “I'd kind of like to get going while the sun is still in the sky.”

Dean huffs in annoyance and fumbles his jacket open to find his sword. He lifts Castiel’s hand and presses the hilt into his palm. “Stay safe, Cas. Got it?”

“Got it.” Castiel quickly tucks the sword away inside his own coat before he catches Dean’s hand again and steps in closer. “You and Sam stay safe too.”

Their goodbye kiss is quick, made all the more brief by Balthazar clearing his throat loudly. When they turn a glare on him, a teasing grin is fixed to his face. Dean mumbles a swear under his breath before he points at him threateningly.

“If Cas gets hurt, I’m coming after you.”

“He’s my _baby brother_. As if I would ever let anything happen to him.”

Even though that’s what he said to Dean, the moment that he and Castiel are on the road and driving in the opposite direction, Balthazar gives Castiel a wicked grin. “Well, Cassie, it’s time to catch ourselves a crossroads demon.”

*

Summoning a crossroads demon is easy. Detaining one for questioning is quite a bit harder.

After gathering the necessary items, most of which had been in Balthazar’s poor excuse for a car trunk, he and Castiel had found a crossroads far outside of Chuck’s hometown. The rolling countryside, dotted with copses of trees, expands in all directions and there isn’t a building in sight. The intersection they stand at is paved with gravel that crunches with every step they take. That will make it all the harder for their plan to succeed and Castiel only hopes he’ll be fast enough for what he needs to do.

They don’t have any idea where, exactly, the demon will appear. Which means that Castiel is forced to hide in the car. More specifically, he hides in the cramped back seat with the door partially open. He’s poised and ready to spring out as soon as he hears Balthazar’s code word. It would be better if he could actually _see_ what will be happening, but he can only hope that Balthazar will have the demon where it’s supposed to be so they really _can_ catch it by surprise.

This isn’t exactly their best plan to date, but given the circumstances, it’s the best that either of them could come up with once they knew they found a suitable location. At the moment, Balthazar should be crouched in the middle of the crossroads right now, using a small trowel to dig a hole and bury the box of spell ingredients. It shouldn’t be long now before a demon appears.

Castiel holds his breath and tries not to move, ignoring the tingling borderline-pain running through his left leg where it’s fallen asleep. That might be a bit of a hiccup when he has to jump out, but he’ll have to fight through it. Their plan is to subdue the demon, not kill it and the element of surprise is necessary for this to go off without a hitch.

It’s the crunch of the gravel that tips Castiel off to the arrival of a third party. A new voice, high and snide, is partially muffled through the door. He isn’t surprised that the demon chose a female vessel. Crossroad demons have the habit of picking one that’s most likely to win their client over. If he was a betting man (but he’s only that when they’re running low on spending money), Castiel would put a sizeable sum on the vessel being tall with long blonde hair and shapely curves.

He really shouldn’t feel as satisfied as he does about how well he knows his brother when his bet turns out to be completely accurate. The moment Balthazar says the code word, Castiel pushes the door open slowly. There’s barely a sound and Balthazar is certainly talking loud enough to mask anything else. The demon half-turns at the first step Castiel takes on the gravel, but she still isn’t prepared for when he tackles her to the ground and presses the tip of Dean’s sword to her throat.

Her eyes flash red and her painted lips twist in a sneer as she glares at him over her shoulder. “You angel marked son-of-a- _whore_.”

“Careful now.” Balthazar warns, leaning over Castiel’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t be so rude to the guy massaging your jugular with an _angel blade_. That’s really quite the bad idea.”

“Gloat later.” Castiel hisses. He’d glare at him, but there’s no way he’s taking his eyes off a demon. “Just go get the rug so we can finish this quickly.”

‘The rug’ is a cheap thing they grabbed at a secondhand store on their way out of town. It’s big, round, and spray-painted with a devil’s trap on one side. It was one of Balthazar’s brighter ideas and Castiel is rather proud of him for it.

He coerces the demon to get up slowly and step onto the rug, going so far as to press the blade into her skin hard enough for a rivulet of blood to flow down her neck. She crinkles her nose at the carpet and paces within its edges the moment Castiel steps back. “What do you idiots want? I’m a _crossroads_ demon. I work under an entirely different boss than the big three. There’s nothing I can give you.”

“Trying to stop the apocalypse is a lost cause.” Balthazar shrugs and leans back against the side of his car, his hands in his pockets. “We’re just here for intel and keeping ourselves busy until the end of days. Isn’t that right, Cassie?”

Ignoring him completely, Castile points the angel blade directly at the demon. “You can leave after you’ve given us the information we need; the name and address of someone with a ten year deal that ends relatively soon. The closer, the sooner, the better.”

For a moment, the demon stares at them. She blinks slowly, her gaze shifting from Castiel to Balthazar and back again before she bursts out laughing. “Are you serious? You’re honestly – You can’t do anything to save them! You’d only be prolonging the inevitable.”

“Minor details.” Balthazar waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Can you give us a name or not?”

“If you’d like further incentive to be cooperative; if you give us the information we need, we’ll let you go.” Castiel lowers the sword and takes a step back. “All we want is the information.”

The demon squints at them. She’s clearly suspicious and Castiel would cross his fingers if he didn’t think that would give away just how desperately they need her to give them an address. “You’re really just going to let me go? What if I go back to my boss and tell him what happened and he goes and tells it to the big three? What are you going to do then?”

“Nothing.” Balthazar shrugs. “But if you don’t give us what we want to know, Cassie here will use the lovely little gift one of our guardian angels gave him and we’ll just call up another demon at another crossroads until we get what we want.”

She rolls her eyes and starts pacing again. “If I get caught for helping you, I’d be better off dead. Hell isn’t quite as fun as you might think it is.”

A cold chill sweeps down Castiel’s spine. He forces himself to ignore it and the nagging mention of the second trial in the back of his mind. His grip on the sword tightens marginally, as if holding this small connection to Dean will somehow help. “I can imagine.”

“No. You really can’t.” The look she gives him makes his stomach twist. It only lasts a moment before she holds her hand out. “Give me a paper and pen.”

Balthazar fishes them out of Castiel’s coat where it’s been left on the back seat, handing them over to the demon without a word. Ten minutes later and the demon is gone, taking the vessel too before Castiel could even mention that the demon should leave them. A hateful twist of guilt echoes behind his ribs and he hopes the demon will leave her soon.

Their trap rug is ruined; a neat gash ripped through part of it where Castiel had to cut to let the demon go. They don’t have the time to bring it with them with the hope to salvage it. Castiel dumps a cap of gasoline on it and throws a match down while Balthazar uses the GPS in his car to find the address they were given.

“Got it, Cassie.” Balthazar sticks his hand out the window and gestures for him to hurry up. “It’s just a few hours north of here.”

Castiel slides into the passenger seat and glances to the west. The sun has nearly set and they’re quickly running out of time. “Then let’s go. She said the contract is up at midnight.”

If they don’t have any trip ups, they should reach the address with a little time to spare. This is a life they won’t be able to save, no matter how hard they try. Even if they stop the hellhound tonight, this victim will have to be on the run the rest of their life. Hiding behind spells and charms and vibernum. That’s no way to live. Even so, letting them die doesn’t sit well with Castiel. Maybe they can give them a fighting chance. They could give them a few supplies and let them decide what they’re going to do.

Thinking about ways he and Balthazar could help this victim is a means of keeping his mind occupied for the drive. If he focuses on that, Castiel won’t have to worry about how this is the first trial and he can’t afford to make any mistakes. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen after it’s completed, but this is important and spending the entire drive there worrying about it might only make things worse.

All the plans he makes on the way there prove pointless.

They arrive with bare minutes to spare. The lights are on, but no one answers the doorbell no matter how many times Balthazar rings the musical chime.

“Right then, I say we break in.” He takes a step back and sizes up the door. “How much do you want to bet that I could kick this open first try?”

Castiel isn’t given the chance to answer. A muffled scream catches their attention. The garage door of the elaborate and extremely expensive looking home is closed, but there are windows in the automatic doors. A quick glance through the glass is enough for Castiel to know that they’re too late. The side door of the garage is wide open, broken in my something much stronger than any human.

The man screaming and fighting for his life on the floor of the garage doesn’t have the glasses that Castiel and Balthazar do, and he doesn’t need them. Where they only see a blurred shape, he can see in full clarity the hellhound clawing open his stomach and sinking its teeth into whatever it can grab. Balthazar shuts the side door and fires over the hood of an expensive sports car with a shotgun round, earning them an angry yelp and the full attention of the hellhound.

He places himself in front of the door for any escape attempts and reloads the shotgun with rock salt rounds, but the Colt is holstered at his hip. “I’ll blow the bastards bloody brains out if it so much as gives you a paper cut.”

“Don’t do a _thing_ unless I call for help.” Castiel hisses back, shrugging out of his coat and stepping forward, the angel blade held tight in his palm.

He places a hand against the front of his shirt, pressing hard against the cross Dean made for him. A silent prayer passes his lips to Abdiel and Deuel as he carefully makes his way around the front of the car, fully aware of the heavy weight of the hellhound’s eyes on him. Castiel doesn’t know if Dean (or even Sam) can still hear his prayer, but he says it anyways even if it’s nothing more than a request for a bit of luck.

The hellhound snarls and dips its head, tail cracking the air like a whip behind it once Castiel is on the same side of the wide garage as it. Despite the speed of his heart, Castiel feels surprisingly calm. His worries during the car ride are distant, as if they don’t belong to him. This is just another job. It needs to have a specific ending, but hand to hand combat is always messy and he doubts he’ll finish it cleanly.

He flips the angel blade in his hand for a reverse grip and licks his lips, waiting for the beast to make the first move. It’s tracking his movements as he slowly circles around it, drawing its attention in a direction that won’t put Balthazar in any danger.

Even with the glasses, it’s hard to see the way the hellhound’s haunches tense. Castiel is barely prepared for it to spring forward. He’s had big dogs jump up to greet him before at Church fundraisers and charity events, but none of them were ever going for his throat. The first jump is dodged and Castiel swings the sword, just nicking the hellhound’s shoulder. He isn’t expecting it to use the wall like a spring board and launch back at him again. It knocks him from his feet and the sword ends up spinning away across the cement floor.

Balthazar’s concerned shout is drowned out by the snarling roar of the hellhound, bare inches from Castiel’s face, and the pounding of his own blood in his ears. His knee is drawn up, digging into the hellhound’s chest in an attempt to leverage it off of him. Castiel has one arm jammed against its throat, keeping it from getting any closer to his face. He’s lucky it hasn’t tried clawing at him yet, but that’s only a matter of time before one of its massive paws takes a swing and rakes dagger-sharp claws into his skin.

Fear is coursing through his veins and Castiel gropes across the floor with his free hand, trying to find the sword and hoping that it’s within reach. He might be calling for Balthazar to get the blade, but everything is a blur of dripping fangs and rancid breath heavy with the stench of decay. Castiel can hardly breathe around the rapid pulse of adrenaline filling him like helium in a balloon.

The boom of the shotgun precedes another yelp of pain and the hellhound staggers to the side. It’s enough of an opening for Castiel to throw it off. Something hard bounces against his hip as he sits up, scrambling to get to his feet. He grabs it without thinking, barely even registering that it’s Dean’s sword as he twists around and sinks it into the side of the hellhound before it can get its wits about it again.

Castiel puts his entire weight behind the strike. He kicks out at the hellhound’s legs, forcing it to the ground as he makes a brutal incision, slicing the beast from shoulder to hip. The howl of pain is bone chilling, echoing in the garage and crawling under Castiel’s skin. Blood splatters across his shirt and face as the hellhound kicks and fights against the sword Castiel buries repeatedly in its stomach.

It’s a brutal, vicious end and Castiel is surprisingly stable when he stands. Dean’s sword slips against his palm, slick with blood, and he tightens his grip on it. There’s blood on the glasses and he takes them off with steady fingers. He doesn’t need to watch the hellhound struggle through its last moments. The trial needs to be finished.

He’s barely finished saying the ending spell before there’s a sudden burn searing through his arms. The sword and the glasses clatter against the cement at his feet. Castiel hisses in pain and grabs one of his forearms, staring at the light crawling beneath his skin. It’s spreading through his veins, searing him from the inside out. The pain is over in an instant, the light fading away as quickly as it appeared, but Castiel has the feeling that something is _different_ now.

“What the _hell_ was that?” Balthazar whispers at his side, ever the one to break the tension in a moment.

Castiel can’t take his eyes off his forearm. He’s reminded of a time (what feels like ages ago) when he’d been pinned against the hood of an Impala in the afterlife, watching the light of Dean’s claiming mark shift under the skin of his chest. Absently, Castiel puts a hand over the cross under his shirt, clutching it through the fabric.

“The first trial is over.” He crouches and picks up the sword and glasses, noting that his hands are shaking now. The adrenaline is finally washing away and Castiel can feel the exhaustion creeping in to take its place.

“Well, I figured that out on my own, thank you very much.” Balthazar grabs Castiel’s shoulder to hold him still as he gives him a scrutinizing once over. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” The smile doesn’t quite make it to Castiel’s lips, and it’s nowhere near his eyes.

He shrugs Balthazar's hand off and pushes past him. This is an unexpected and alarming turn of events. Chuck’s translations never said anything about the process of the trials hurting him. None of them had expected it to feel like the sun was settling in his veins – an entirely different burn of heat than how he often feels with Dean’s grace.

Abruptly, Castiel turns back around and Balthazar nearly walks into him. “Don’t breathe a word of what just happened to Dean.”

“You –” For the first time that Castiel can remember, Balthazar seems actually _appalled_ over the idea of a lie. “After the snit he threw about you facing hellhounds again and bringing up that ridiculous scheme you had, you’re going to _lie_ to your _boyfriend_ again?”

Castiel ignores the twist of guilt in his stomach and the way it tastes like bile on his tongue. “No, we’re not going to lie to him. We’re just withholding information until I can figure out how to explain to him and Sam about what happened.” This won’t sit well with him at all, but it’s the best that Castiel can think of at the moment. It’s either this or having to deal with the fallout that the results of these trials might actually hurt him.

He clears his throat and gives Balthazar his most stern expression. “I’ll tell him eventually, but not until I can be sure that he won’t blow it out of proportion.”

Balthazar’s mouth curves into a thin lipped frown. “I’m sorry, having you even met him before?” He holds up his hand to cut Castiel off before he can resort to begging or threats. “I’m not going to say anything, but you had better be prepared, Cassie.”

“Prepared for what?”

“Now it’s _my_ turn to give the disapproving frowns.” He grins, but it falls away a moment later as he gestures at Castiel. “And you’re not getting in my car like _that_.”

Despite the blood settling into his clothing and the tacky feel of it seeping against his skin, Castiel shrugs and turns away. “I’m not showering in a dead person’s bathroom.”

“It’s not like he’s going to be using it!”

*

It’s been a few days since they went their separate ways from Dean and Sam. The preparations for the third trail keep them away longer than Castiel would like, but it does give him and Balthazar a chance to relax in a motel for a few days and research possible ways to get into hell. It still stumps them and they spend hours staring at library books and computer screens in frustration.

The only break they get is a phone call from Chuck nearly a week after they saw him and a day before Sam and Dean are due to join them at the motel. Balthazar is the one who picks up the phone, checks the screen, and tosses it clear across the room to where Castiel is sitting on one of the beds with several books spread out before him on the covers. He nearly falls off the bed trying to catch it.

“It’s for you.” Balthazar mumbles, getting up for what might be his sixteenth cup of coffee. Castiel hasn’t really been tracking it.

“You could have answered this.” Castiel glares at him as he flips the phone open to answer the call. “Hello Chuck. Is everything alright?”

“I guess, yeah.” Chuck sounds more relaxed than Castiel has ever heard him. A spike of worry lodges itself in his chest. “Things are – things are fine. Sorta. I mean, only one of the tablets mentions heaven, so I think that’s the one.”

He sits up straighter and flashes a smile at Balthazar. “That’s great news!”

“Well, sorta. It gets weirder and I’m not sure if it’s a good weird or a bad weird.”

Castiel puts the phone on speaker and holds it out so Balthazar can hear too. “Explain.”

There’s a moment of silence before Chuck clears his throat. “I’ve stopped having visions. I thought it was a fluke the other night, but every nap I’ve had since has been actually _restful_. I’ve been working the same bottle of whiskey for two days now. This never happens.”

Balthazar sits on the other bed instead of back at the table, two steaming cups of coffee in his hands. One he hands to Castiel. “Does that mean you’re going to be able to focus more on translating?”

“Yes, absolutely. I might even be able to translate this one in less than a month.”

“That’s good news.” Castiel relaxes slightly, but the worry is still twisting behind his ribs. “You get started on that. We’ve got one trial down and we’ll be seeing Dean and Sam soon to get started on the second. You get some well deserved rest and work on that tablet.”

The conversation doesn’t continue long past that and Castiel closes the phone soon after. He shares a worried frown with Balthazar. “This is going to throw a wrench in the works, isn’t it, Cassie?”

“I think it might. Let’s wait until Sam and Dean are here before we tell them about it.”

Balthazar’s frown only gets deeper and Castiel looks down at the coffee in his hands. “You’re still going to keep the internal lightshow a secret, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t answer. Balthazar already knows what he’s going to say. The unspoken argument between them leaves things tense right up until Dean and Sam arrive the next day. It’s not the lie that Balthazar is upset with. This would be easier if it was. He’s made it quite clear over the last few days that his problem is that Castiel is withholding something that is potentially dangerous to himself. As angels, Sam and Dean might know what’s going on. They might have more to offer to the situation, but Castiel doesn’t want Dean to worry or he might try to call the whole thing off. It’s too late for that anyways.

“I’m going to tell them.” Balthazar warns after they get the text from Dean that he and Sam are only a few minutes away. “They need to know.”

“They don’t need to know _yet_.” Castiel all but pleads. “I’ll tell them when the timing is right. And either way, they’ll find out during the second trial. It would be better that way. With two trials already done, Dean won’t be able to say ‘no’ to the third.”

They bicker about it with silent glares and heated barbs right up until Dean and Sam walk through the door. Castiel holds his breath, waiting to see what Balthazar will say.

“Took you long enough.” Balthazar snipes from the table, knocking back a beer. “You had the easiest job out of all of us.”

“Easy, my ass.” Dean huffs, crossing the room to Castiel. “We found a church and got it ready in a day but the demons aren’t rising to our bait.” He pauses to pull Castiel into a hug and looks him over. “How’d you do? Nothing weird happen?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I’m fine.” It’s not a lie. “You should just get a crossroads demon. They’re surprisingly easy to catch.”

“We tried that.” Sam sighs, slumping into the free chair at the table. “They take off the moment they see that they were summoned by angels and then we have to get the hell out of there before they come back with more friends then we could handle.”

Balthazar snorts and Castiel doesn’t miss the edged glare he sends at him. “Well, let’s take your mind off your failure. You’ve got any idea why Chuck would stop getting his visions? He’s suddenly found himself with a lot of free time for translating the heaven tablet.”

Dean frowns and sits on the edge of the bed not covered in Castiel’s books. “Something big must’ve happened for them to stop. Should we call Charlie?” He glances at everyone in question.

“Already praying.” Sam mumbles, his eyes closed and his head tilted back.

He looks exhausted and Castiel wonders if they should start getting separate rooms now so he can have a bed too. Balthazar isn’t the greatest at sharing his bed and Castiel doesn’t want to give up sleeping next to Dean if he can help it.

While they wait for Charlie, Dean has Castiel go into detail about the first trial. They’ve talked about it a few times since it happened through calls and texts, but Dean still hasn’t heard everything. Balthazar’s glare is hot against the back of Castiel’s head when he purposefully leaves out what happened after the hellhound died.

“So, nothing happened afterward?” Sam asks quietly, his cheek propped on his fist. “How do we know that it worked then?”

“Oh, it worked.” Balthazar says firmly, his arms crossed as he tilts back in his chair. “Trust me on that.”

“But _how_ do we know?” Dean looks between Castiel and the others. “If nothing happened, how are we supposed to know that it actually worked?”

Castiel pushes his hands harder against his thighs, keeping them from curling into fists. How is he supposed to explain to them that they know, definitively, that the trial actually worked without telling them what happened? He knows without a doubt that Dean is going to push for the trials to stop if he finds out that there was light in his veins and that it had hurt.

His saving grace is that Charlie chooses then to arrive. She does a slow turn of the room after appearing before resting her hands on her hips. “So, I hear my bitches are in a jam. Tell me all about it.”

“After you tell us why the prophet stopped getting visions.” Sam points out. “That’s the whole reason we called you in the first place.” Castiel winces. Maybe Sam should start sleeping tonight. When he’s tired, he’s not very considerate.

Charlie’s lips twist and she tosses her hair over her shoulder as she turns away. Deans is at her side in a moment, an arm thrown tightly around her. “Of course we also wanted to see our favourite angel. How’s it going up top?”

She sniffs, but leans into his side, accepting the hug for what it’s worth. “They’re fine. Though Zachariah is more than a little insufferable right now. He’s preening like an over enthusiastic peacock because they found Michael’s vessel. Coincidentally, that’s why they stopped bothering with the visions. Since _that’s_ what you’re so interested in right now.”

Sam doesn’t even acknowledge the glare. He’s back to stretching out in the chair with his head tilted over the back of it. “Great. How many seals are left?”

“A handful.” Charlie huffs and sits on the bed next to Castiel. “Only two are fixed. The one that can only be done on the hunter’s moon and the final one. Apparently Zachariah is the only angel who knows what that is and he’s keeping it completely to himself.”

“We’re in the lead, then.” Castiel allows himself to relax slightly. “There’s another four and a half months until the moon. If we can seal hell before then, they won’t be able to do anything.”

Balthazar snorts and lifts his beer bottle in a mock cheers. “Too bad we’re screwed for the second trial.”

Charlie perks up at that mention. “Trial, what trial? Tell me all about these trials. I am _so_ bored upstairs, you don’t even understand. Dish the dirt!”

They’ve barely gotten into explaining what the second trial is before she interrupts. “How in the hell are you going to get into _hell_? Who are you going to save?”

“That’s exactly our problem.” Dean sighs and flops out over the only clean bed. He twists onto his side to give Charlie a pleading look. “You wouldn’t happen to know of an undeserving soul in hell, would you? Or maybe a secret back door to getting there? That would be awesome.”

“What do I look like, an encyclopedia to all things you don’t know?” She laughs and pats Castiel on the shoulder as she bounces to her feet. “I’ve gotta get back before they miss me, but I’ll look into it for you guys and give you a prayer to find out where you are when I’ve got anything for you.”

Dean’s expression pulls tight and he rolls onto his back again. “Pray to Sam. My radio isn’t working so great nowadays.” He waves his hand to brush off the concerned looks he receives. “Don’t worry about it. Just don’t let anyone catch you sniffing around upstairs.”

Charlie shares a worried glance with Castiel, but she gives her goodbyes and leaves. It’s already late enough that no one objects when Castiel suggests they turn in for the night. He doesn’t feel particularly sleepy – in fact, his stomach feels like it’s joined the circus and he’s fairly certain that he’s not going to sleep tonight.

It’s still nice to crawl in next to Dean again and have another warm body to share the bed. It’s nicer still that Balthazar doesn’t complain beyond a few half-hearted glares when Sam  drops face first on the other half of his bed without changing or getting under the covers. When the lights go out and Balthazar’s snores start, Castiel isn’t at all surprised that Dean tugs him close enough that his lips brush his ear.

“You’ve been quieter than usual.” The rosary around Dean’s wrist drags over Castiel’s stomach as he wraps an arm around his waist and curls against his back. “Everything okay, Cas?”

The truth is on the tip of his tongue, but Castiel can’t bring himself to say it. Dean will only worry, or he’ll be upset. Of course, he’ll just be all the more upset later when he finds out that Castiel was keeping something big like this from him. _Oh_. How had he and Balthazar not realized that in the days since he decided to keep this a secret from Dean?

“Don’t be mad.”

Perhaps that wasn’t the best thing to say first. Dean goes still behind him and props himself up on his elbow, squinting at Castiel in the dim light coming through the one window. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Castiel explains in a rush the momentary burn of light under his skin, whispering to keep from waking Sam and Balthazar. By the time he’s done, Dean is sitting up properly and frowning at his feet under the blanket. He sits up too and hesitates to reach for Dean, letting his hand drop to his lap instead.

“I would have told you sooner, but I knew you – We _can’t_ stop now, Dean. We’ve got one trial down and Charlie is going to help us with the second.” The blanket twists between his fingers and Castiel glances at the bare stretch of Dean’s back. It occurs to him that they should get Sam and Dean their own anti-possession tattoos soon, but he puts that thought aside for now. “I’m not sick or hurt and there have been no side effects since. Everything is fine.”

Dean’s silence stretches a little longer before he turns to look back at him. He still has a worried frown, but he doesn’t look anywhere near as angry as Castiel had been expecting. “The moment it’s not okay – the _moment_ you stop feeling fine – you tell me. Got that? Promise me, Cas.”

He scoots forward to be level with Dean and leans into his shoulder. “I promise. You’ll be the first one I tell if anything starts to feel wrong.”

“Good.” Dean flops back and drags Castiel down with him. “Tomorrow we’ll look into getting to hell. Maybe we could use a devil’s gate. There’s at least one of them somewhere in this country. Or we could get the help of a reaper. Those bastards are the only ones who can go through the veil between worlds as easy as pie.”

It’s a thought. And a better one than Castiel or Balthazar have had the last few days. Instead of going to sleep right away, as Dean does after a brief goodnight kiss, Castiel ruminates on these new options. A devil’s gate would be easiest to get a hold of. He knows of one hidden within a massive devil’s trap built by Samuel Colt, but he has no idea of how to open it, let alone how to make sure that no demons will get out once it’s opened.

What if, in trying to do the second trial, they just unleash more demons? No, that’s unacceptable. Castiel disregards the devil’s gate idea and turns his attention to the chances of using a reaper. The only time he’s ever seen one is when he’s been on the verge of death. He has no pressing desire to be like that again and he certainly doesn’t want either Sam, Dean, or Balthazar to take that risk just to call a reaper.

By morning, Castiel has slept a few hours and a plan is already fully formed in his head. He waits until breakfast to explain it to the others and Dean grins at him from across the table. Sam looks a little more thoughtful and a lot less tired this morning.

“But how are we going to find one? The glasses don’t pick up on reapers. They’re an entirely different set of supernatural creatures than the hellhounds. Our wings are only concealed on a slightly different plane like the hellhounds are.” Sam leans back and crosses his arms again, tapping his fingers on his elbows. “Even if you could see them, you wouldn’t be able to catch one. They’re incorporeal.”

“What about you then, bright eyes?” Balthazar flicks his spoon at Sam and then at Dean. “You _are_ angels, or what’s left of them. Can’t you snatch up a reaper?”

Dean shares a look with Sam, a small frown creasing his forehead. “Maybe? We could try, but we might be too Fallen for that.”

The sudden, pleased grin that spreads over Balthazar’s lips is both curious and terrifying. He stands up and grabs his bag. “Get changed, ladies. We’ve got shopping and reconnaissance to do!”

“Reconnaissance for _what_?” Castiel asks at the same time Dean questions the shopping.

“We need disguises and we won’t be able to make an appropriate disguise without first seeing what the local hospital uses as scrubs, now can we?” Balthazar calls over his shoulder as he ducks into the bathroom. “What better place to find a reaper than a place full of people on their deathbeds?”

The question is sound and Castiel has to admit, hours later when they’re hiding a few streets over in an alley while Sam and Dean change, that Sam does look good in stolen scrubs and Dean makes a respectable looking priest. The rosary helps and it feels only slightly weird to be adjusting his own clerical collar around Dean’s throat.

“Cassie, you don’t have a priest kink or anything do you?” Balthazar asks while he compares Sam’s outfit to the pictures he took earlier on his phone. They’d spent half the day making fake IDs and it hadn’t been easy getting their hands on existing ones to make the duplicates. “Because that would make this all _very_ weird.”

Dean raises his eyebrows and smirks in a teasing unasked question. Castiel puts a hand against his chest to shove him back a step. “I’ve been around priests my entire life. I absolutely do not find anything about them to be _kinky_. Balthazar and I will be in the parking lot. Text us if you manage to catch one.” He looks at Dean pointedly. “You’re going to be helping people in their last moments. Don’t make it terrible for them.”

He adopts an affronted look. “I’m an _angel_ , I think I can help people cross over just fine, thanks.” After a moment’s pause, he starts fiddling with the rosary around his wrist. “But in case that I don’t, do you have a spare collar? You could come with me and we could act like I’m a priest in training. It would be better than me fucking up and getting us kicked out of the hospital.”

It takes Balthazar another hour in the backseat of the car to make Castiel a fake hospital ID too. He’s not exactly the happiest about now having to camp out in the parking lot on his own, but at least Castiel is going to be present while Sam pretends to be the staff member who helps show the priests around. To be honest, he had been worried that since this is their first time going undercover that they might accidentally make a mess of things. His first undercover operation had been a disaster and if it wasn’t for Balthazar, Castiel might have spent a night in jail because of it.

He finishes adjusting his collar in the side mirror of the Impala and glances back at Sam and Dean. “Ready?”

“Ready.” Sam nods and starts leading the way back toward the hospital.

“Y’know…” Dean murmurs in his ear, following behind Castiel closely. “You might not have a priest kink, but I kinda d-oomph.” He’s silenced by a sharp elbow to the solar plexus and Castiel ignores him in favour of adjusting the rosary hanging against his chest.

*

“I give up.” Dean whines, slumping against the back wall of their third hospital. “It’s been a week, Cas. This isn’t going to work.”

They’ve moved every few days to keep anyone from catching on that they weren’t supposed to be there, but Dean is right. This isn’t working. He and Sam can see the reapers, like shrouded ghosts flitting between rooms and hovering over the new or nearly dead, but they can’t _touch_ them. Unlike Dean, Sam can actually feel them as they pass over his hand, but he can’t do anything to stop it. Even he has Fallen too far.

“We need to come up with a different plan.” Sam sighs, leaning his shoulder against the same wall. “Either that or we get a team to start researching on how to make a reaper’s trap. I know one exists, but I don’t know the details.”

Balthazar groans, shoving his hands through his hair in an irritated sweep. “Where would we even start to look for something like that? In Bobby's books? Those are a few states over at the moment, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Then let's go get them.” Dean steps away from the wall quickly, tugging at his collar. “I'd rather spend a few days driving than waste another minute around this place while wearing this monkey suit.” He pauses and glances apologetically at Castiel. “Not that it doesn’t look good on you, Cas, but I'm not built for a closed collared suit anymore.”

“No, I agree.” Castiel waves him off. There are days where even he can't stand the weight of the clerical collar and all the many responsibilities that come with it. “We're not making any headway here. No matter how hard we try, the reapers are ignoring us and your grace isn't going to receive some sudden boost to let either of you grab one of them. Before we take the time to make a trip back home, are we absolutely certain that there is nothing more we can do here?”

“Ever the voice of reason, Officer Spock.” A new voice speaks just out of Castiel's line of sight and the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention at the sudden presence of someone who wasn’t there moments before.

Balthazar has his gun out before any of them have fully registered that the voice belongs to Charlie. She steps up next to Castiel with her hands in her pockets and an amused grin on her lips. “Sorry boys, did I catch you by surprise?”

“You're faster than usual.” Sam says, casting a sheepish smile at the rest of the group. “I didn't even get a chance to tell them that I was praying to you.”

Charlie shrugs and her grin twitches a little wider as she looks Dean and Sam over. “I've actually been waiting for you to call me. Your radio must be on the fritz now too, Goliath, because I haven't been getting through to you either.” She coughs over a snort of laughter when her eyes linger over the white collar around Dean's neck.

Castiel's stomach sinks and he steals a careful glance at Sam, barely catching the upset that flashes across his face before his expression is schooled into one of acceptance. Was he pushing his grace over the last week, trying to breach the plane between this and the next with every attempt to grab a reaper? A small wedge of guilt lodges itself in Castiel's throat and he tries to ignore it as he turns back to Charlie.

“Why were you trying to get a hold of us?”

“You've got to get to hell and rescue an innocent soul, right?” Her smile ebbs just a little when she looks to him. “I found a way in besides hitching a reaper express; one that's a heck of a lot more reliable than those shifty bastards.”

Balthazar tucks his gun away and gives her a pleading look, going so far as to clasp his hands together. “What, pray tell, might that be? And please, for the love of all the gin in the world, _please_ tell me it doesn't require camping out in a parking lot for a week straight while these idiots get to play dress up.”

Charlie’s smile turns sly. “If you promise to get me a box set of the Harry Potter books, I might just say 'yes' to that. I've been catching up on my human culture, y'know? Multitasking my secretarial division with walking through the humans' heavens and _wow_ you guys are fascinating. Did you know that -”

Dean clears his throat. “How about we talk plans before we get into the chit chat? The less we have to hang around here, the better.”

“Fine, fine.” She sighs and frowns at him. Clearly Dean's spoiled her fun and Castiel would be amused if he wasn't a little afraid of what Charlie might say about the way to get to hell. He holds his breath as she continues. “As former angels, I'm sure you know a thing or two about how _we_ pass between the planes of heaven and hell when we have our wars, hm?”

The brief glimmer of hope in Sam's eyes falls away and he shakes his head with a sad frown. “Hell will know the moment an angel passes its border. You could get Cas through, but you’d need to be with him so he could get back. Demons would be on you before he could find an innocent soul.”

“Let's not forget that we know fuck all about where any innocent souls might be in hell, let alone _who_ down there is actually an innocent.” Balthazar cuts in.

Frustration is starting to replace Castiel's fear and his hand goes to the rosary resting against his chest. Are they never going to get a break with this trial?

“Geeze, you guys are grouchy.” Charlie sniffs and crosses her arms, glaring around the small circle at all of them. “Not getting enough beauty sleep, huh?”

“We're sorry.” Castiel tries for a placating smile, but he feels like he falls short of it. “It's been a frustrating week. Is there anything else you have to say about the angelic method?”

She squints at him before sighing and letting her arms drop again as she tilts her head to Sam. “You're right. On my own I'd only be able to open the portal long enough for someone to get through. Unless I go too, Cas is going to be trapped on the other side and I won't know where or when to open the portal to get him back. I got that far before I was stumped.”

“What if we had _two_ angels?” Balthazar asks, brightening and glancing around at them. “If we called Victor down to help, would two angels be able to hold the portal long enough for Cassie to get in and out without being trapped?”

Dean's frown has only gotten deeper with every mention of the trip to hell. Castiel hates to admit it, but he's been silently waiting all week for Dean to have some kind of fit about how dangerous this is going to be and how he can't let him go into hell alone. So far, there’s been nothing but a tense silence on Dean’s part whenever a discussion of the second trial arises, but Castiel can feel his stare like a physical force against the side or back of his head every time.

His thoughts are interrupted by the rising scent of thunder and lightning and he glances at Charlie to find her glaring at them  yet again. “Who the hell is Victor?” She hisses, her arms crossed tightly again. “Are you cheating on me with another angel?”

Sam shrugs and runs a hand through his hair. “Not really.”

“You're our number one angel, promise.” Dean appeases her with a wide smile as he slides up next to her and throws an arm around her shoulders in a half hug. “But you're not the only one we've managed to drag over to our cause. We weren't really expecting _Vaniah_ , of all angels, to actually go against heaven like this, but he’s on our side now too.”

Charlie sucks in a sharp breath and looks up at him with wide eyes. “Vaniah? You've got _him_ in your pocket? How did that happen?”

“We'll explain later.” Sam waves his hand, his eyes turned to the sky. “I'm giving him the name of our motel and room number. Let's head over there and figure this out.”

*

It’s been a week since they convinced Victor to help them get into hell. He wasn’t exactly pleased about actually having to help, especially when he found out that Charlie was also working with them, but he was easily swayed when they reminded him that it’s to close the gates of hell for good. They have no plans of telling him about their campaign to close heaven too.

Since Charlie and Victor couldn’t stay for very long that day, it had been decided to rendezvous at a more secure location. Charlie had left with the promise to look into their register of souls that should have arrived, but didn’t. If she could find one who wasn’t a ghost on Earth, then it likely means that soul is in hell and it’s the one that Castiel will have to go after.

Balthazar found them a nice factory to use, far enough from the populace that there’s little chance of someone poking around in their business. The factory was closed more than a decade ago, still up for sale, and the perfect place for them to commandeer one of the rooms for this endeavor. While Dean and Sam use spray paint and permanent markers to place wards, Balthazar makes sure that Castiel is fully prepped for his foray into hell. He’s got the Colt, another gun, and as much ammo as his pockets can carry. There’s a knife strapped to his thigh, but Castiel doesn’t see that being of much use where he’s going.

Neither Sam nor Dean had anything to say about what Castiel should expect when he crosses into hell. They parts of it they’ve been to have been the far edges where heaven and hell meet. Charlie and Victor will be opening a portal deep in the bowels of it all, where the souls of the damned are given their punishments for the sins they made in life. He’s entering a territory no angel has seen in a millennia and he’s _terrified_ of what he’ll find down there.

Charlie and Victor arrive exactly on time. If their earlier plans went well, they should be able to stay down here for a little while before they’re missed. The moment they’re in the room, Dean locks the door and completes the sigils he’d drawn on it.

“Nothing’s getting in or out of this room that we don’t want to. We ready for this?” The look he gives Castiel nearly screams that he doesn’t want this to continue any further.

It’s a testament to how he’s grown that he isn’t fighting this trial tooth and nail, especially considering how Castiel has been over the last week. He hasn’t been feeling his usual best. It’s been harder to sleep at night and his appetite has all but completely vanished. Every morning has been filled with a bout of queasiness and every evening he feels woozy, and he hasn’t bothered trying to hide any of it. Despite that, Castiel has repeatedly assured everyone that he’s fine. It’s just his nerves. He’s human and he’s about to embark on a foray into _hell_. Who wouldn’t be thrown off their usual disposition by that?

The calm Castiel usually feels on a hunt hasn’t settled yet, and his insides are a writhing mess of fear and worry. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “I’m ready. Charlie, did you find anything about the souls?”

A red flag flaps through his mind when Charlie doesn’t meet his eyes. “I might have.”

Balthazar huffs and taps the only wall Sam and Dean didn’t draw on (apparently it’s going to be used in Charlie and Victor’s spell). “Time is a-ticking. The sooner you spill the beans, the better.”

She chews her lip when she looks up at Castiel. “I thought it would be better to look into souls that you would be willing to do this for.”

He frowns in confusion, tilting his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, well, wouldn’t it be easier to go to hell to save someone that you know?”

“Everyone I know is either alive or in heaven.” This still isn’t making any sense to him, but a oil slick of dread is spreading through his chest.

Charlie spares a glance at Victor and just about everyone else in the room before she looks back at Castiel, pain etched into the lines of her face. Her voice is small, barely a whisper, when she speaks again. “Does the name Father Christopher ring any bells?”

It’s Balthazar who reacts first, his face draining white before it flushes red with anger. In two strides, he’s crossed the small room to place himself directly in front of Charlie. “He was an _innocent_. How the bloody _fuck_ did he end up in _hell_?”

“Yeah, but he was an innocent who died at the hands of a demon as a component in a spell to break a seal on Lucifer’s cage.” Charlie doesn’t back down, even though her vessel is significantly shorter than Balthazar. “He’s been in hell since then. And if you want me to make this an even more poignant moment for you – time runs differently in hell. One month up here is ten years down there, in case you were wondering.”

Castiel feels numb and cold. It’s like a heavy weight is sitting on his chest. The only man he’s truly considered his father has been burning in the pit for the last twenty years and he had no idea. There’s was nothing he could’ve done, but maybe there was. Maybe he could’ve done this sooner, gotten the help he needed from Dean the moment he came into his life. He could’ve traded the amulet for this, or bargained with Meg or –

“Cas?” Dean’s hand on his shoulder snaps him from his thoughts. “You okay?”

His throat feels like a desert, dry and barren, when he opens his mouth again. “I’ll do it. I’ll save him.”

“Great. Now let’s get this over with.” Victor pushes his way through the room to the back wall and picks up a piece of chalk. “Jed – _Charlie_. Get over here and start drawing. The rest of you, make sure that he’s prepared to carry a soul out of there.”

Charlie gives Castiel one last apologetic look before she goes to help Victor draw the seals they’ll need for the portal to work. Sam makes a face at Victor’s back, but he pulls the cap from one of the markers and takes Castiel’s right hand. He draws a somewhat complicated symbol full of jagged lines on his palm and blows on it until the ink is dry.

“You know the incantation, right, Cassie?” Balthazar sounds harried, and he looks it too. “If you don’t get it right, you won’t be able to carry the soul out.”

“I know.” Castiel gives him a reassuring smile, knowing that it’s not nearly as effective as he would like it to be. “I’ve practiced it all week, Balthazar. I’m ready.”

Dean clears his throat and takes Castiel’s wrist, tugging him around to face him. “No, you’re not ready yet.” He presses the hilt of his sword into his left hand, even closing Castiel’s fingers around it for him. “Hell isn’t going to be like anything you faced before Cas. Hellhounds, the fire, _nothing_ is going to hold a candle to it. You get in, find the soul, and get out.” The grip on Castiel’s hand tightens and he can’t look away from Dean’s eyes. “You come back. _Promise_ that you’ll come back.”

“Ditto.” Sam whispers, and the fear in his eyes matches Dean’s.

“Agreed.” Balthazar’s hand is on his shoulder, squeezing just as tightly. “You better come home, Cassie, or I’m going in after you.”

This feels strangely like when Castiel had to get Balthazar back from Meg. He nods and meets their eyes in turn, ending with Dean. “I promise I’ll come back.” Castiel leaves off the _‘to you’_ , but he hopes Dean reads it in his eyes. He must, because Dean takes a quick step forward and kisses him soundly, not caring about the annoyed huff Victor makes behind them.

“We’re ready.”

What they drew on the wall looks almost like a door. There’s a rectangle of empty space in the middle of the bricks, swirling symbols all along its edge. They branch out from the sides of the door to form two ovals filled with more designs on either side of the wall. Victor and Charlie place their hands in the ovals and the scent of a storm charges the air, sending a chill down Castiel’s back as they gather their grace. In a sucking whoosh, the bricks of the wall fall inward piece by piece, swirling away into a darkness that reeks with the putrid stench of decay. Even though a wind is drawing him towards the center of the portal, pressing at him from behind, Castiel still feels a wave of heat against his face, lined with a cold that burns.

He wants to look back over his shoulder and see his small family one last time, but he knows that he can’t. If Castiel looks back, he might lose his resolve. With some effort, he summons up the last memory he has of Father Christopher. He lets the warmth of the memory fill him and he clings to that as he takes a running leap into the darkness.

*

His knees hit the floor and Castiel drops to his hands, gasping for breath as his stomach clenches violently. He dry heaves once, twice, and doesn’t bother to even try and stop from throwing up in a messy puddle between his hands. It burns his throat and stings his nose but does little to take away from the memories in his head, the screams in his ears, or the tears on his face.

There are voices around him, familiar and comforting, but he barely hears them. Castiel isn’t even sure how he’s still holding himself together. Everything he saw – everything he heard – it’s like a thick cloud settled in his mind. It takes everything that he is to focus on getting to his feet again, his left hand leaving a smear of blood on the floor. He doesn’t even feel the sting of the matching symbol he’d cut into his palm with the tip of the knife.

Light swims under the skin of both his forearms. He had never expected the weight of another soul to be so heavy. One had nearly been too much. With _two_ , Castiel can barely stand, swaying in place as he holds his arms out. His tongue feels leaden as he stumbles through the incantation to release them. The souls bleed through his skin, twisting into the air like liquid clouds of light. They radiate warmth and joy, and Castiel basks in that heat as they spin through the air around him.

His voice isn’t strong enough to say goodbye to them. The souls dance in dizzying, fluid spirals and Castiel watches them until his knees don’t feel so weak and the screams fade in his ears.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice is deep, worried, and the best thing Castiel has ever heard.

“I’m fine.” He sags into the heat of the body next to him, letting Dean carry his weight for a while.

Castiel glances around the room, blearily taking it again. It’s a stark reminder that he’s back where he belongs. Victor and Charlie are both sitting on the floor, breathing heavily with their backs against the wall that looks as normal as it did before they started. The chalk outlines of their symbols are charred remains against the brick and a shudder shakes through Castiel. He has to look away quickly, trying hard to ignore the pulse of fear that the portal will yawn open again with or without the angels to power it.

“You brought back two souls.” Victor grunts, getting to his feet. “We’re both going to have to escort these to heaven and it’s going to be harder to sneak in _two_.”

“It’ll be fine.” Charlie waves her hand at him as she gets up too. The look she gives Castiel, full of sympathy and understanding, makes him think she knows exactly what these souls mean to him. “Don’t worry, Castiel, they’re in good hands.”

“Thank you.” He whispers around a tired smile. “Please take care of them.”

Balthazar waits until Charlie and Victor disappear with the souls cradled carefully in their hands before he asks the question Castiel knows everyone is dying to ask. “Why two souls, Cassie? What happened down there?”

Castiel can’t bring himself to answer that question. At least not yet. Everything is too fresh, like a raw wound. He shakes his head and takes a small step away from Dean instead. It’s time to finish the trail. His hands clench of their own accord, arms trembling with the anticipation for the pain that he’s sure is going to happen again.

Without fail, the moment Castiel finishes the last syllable of the ending spell, he doubles over with a gasp on his lips. It’s only Dean’s hands that keep him from going to the floor again. A new light, different from the souls, spider-webs along Castiel’s arms, twisting and burning through his veins as the trial ends. It’s over in an instant, but Castiel is left struggling for breath and trembling. He’s barely able to stand and Dean has to almost carry him to one of the rickety, dust covered chairs in the room.

“That looked worse than what you told me.” Dean crouches in front of him, his hands on Castiel’s knees as he looks up at him in concern. “You okay?”

“It’s fine.” Castiel shakes his head and regrets the action immediately as the world around him tilts briefly. “I’ll be fine.”

Balthazar snorts and leans over above Dean to push back the sweat damp hair on Castiel’s forehead. “You sure as hell don’t look fine, Cassie. We got anything he can drink? Water? Vodka? Tequila?” He glances back at Sam, gesturing for their duffle bag of supplies.

This time he shakes his head more slowly and covers Dean’s hands with his own, trying for another reassuring smile. Maybe if he can convince Dean that he’s okay, he’ll be able to convince himself too. “Let’s go back to the motel. I’ll have something to eat and drink, take a long shower, and then all I need is rest. Preferably for a hundred years.”

Dean doesn’t look all that reassured, but he doesn’t argue. They manage to find a bottle of water in one of the cars and Castiel drinks that on the way back to the motel. He sighs and slumps in the front seat, trying to ignore the concerned, silent glances that Dean keeps throwing at him. Castiel closes his eyes in an attempt to relax, but he opens them again when blood and gore is all he can see.

It happens every time he does it in the car. After his shower, no one stops Castiel when he hunts down the little bottle of sleep aides that Dean had for the planes. There were only single rooms left at this particular motel and Castiel has no idea when Sam and Balthazar actually left to their own. The pills put him down rather quickly, but they do nothing to keep him from waking up screaming just a few short hours later.

Lights snap on in the room before Castiel can even fight his way out from under the blankets. The weak fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling chase away the blood splashed darkness. Castiel flinches when Dean touches his shoulder, and he flinches again when he sits down on the edge of the bed next to him. He breaks down and crumples against his side, his chest heaving with great, shuddering sobs.

“It’s gonna take a long time to get hell out of your system.” Dean whispers into Castiel’s hair, his hand sweeping in soothing arcs along his spine. “Angels get it the same. It’s gonna be okay.”

Castiel struggles to get his voice back, forcing his throat not to close up or his stomach not to clench with the memories of everything he saw. “It was pain.” He manages on a breath, hissing the words against Dean’s shoulder. “It was pain, and fear, and _hate_.”

Dean squeezes him tighter. “It’ll be okay, Cas.”

His arms are like a security blanket and Castiel has never felt more safe than here. He winds his arms around Dean’s waist and all but buries himself against the comfort of his chest, breathing deep the soft soap and storm scent of the skin at the curve of his throat.

For a while, Dean lets Castiel get control of himself again. He waits to speak, and when he does it’s in nothing more than another soft whisper. “You wanna talk about it?”

Castiel’s immediate response is to shake his head. But Dean’s hand pushes up into his hair, carding through it in a relaxing massage. “If you’re not ready to talk about it now, I get that. But don’t forget that you promised you wouldn’t hold anything back from me anymore.”

“He didn’t want to come with me.”

The words leave on another broken sob and tears sting behind his eyes. That wasn’t what he meant to say. All he wanted to do was acknowledge that he remembered his promise and he would talk about it when he’s ready. But now that he’s said it, the rest of the words come tumbling out between every gasped breath as he shakes through what happened.

"There were hooks in his skin and-" Castiel swallows, the image still vivid behind his eyes; the peeling skin, the rotting flesh, all that _blood_. "And he was hang - hanging from the ceiling. I got him down, but he- he wouldn't-" He pauses again and his chest clenches painfully. "He wouldn't come with me."

The dam has broken and Castiel couldn’t stop himself if he tried. “Because of the children.” To say it is another sharp stab behind his ribs and Castiel’s hands start to shake where they’re still gripping Dean’s shirt. “Before I went through that portal, all I could think about was the Father being down there for - for -” He hiccups, stumbling over the mental math and abandoning it all together. “I didn’t stop to think about the - the -”

“Everyone else who died in the fire.” Dean finishes the thought for him and it wrenches another sob out of Castiel’s already raw throat.

It takes him several minutes to find his voice again, but it’s broken and weak - like him. “Father Christopher took me to the -” He sucks in a heavy breath, his chest aching, his throat burning. “- the closest children. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve found the others too, but I was too -”

“You didn’t have the time.” The arms around him squeeze tighter and Castiel tries to take solace in their security. “Every minute that you spent there was a minute closer to you getting discovered. It was just supposed to be a quick in and out job.”

Despite that, it’s a sick weight in Castiel’s heart that he could only save the two nearest to him when there were all the other children still down there. He shakes his head and presses his face harder into the side of Dean’s neck.

“Hael.” The name nearly chokes him. “She - she was the first soul I took in. I thought I - it felt like I was going to split apart at my seams, Dean.” Castiel can’t stop shaking, and he can’t stop the tears, or the guilty knife twisting in his chest. “Samandriel was the second and it was _agony_.” His voice drops to a whisper and he isn’t even sure Dean hears him. “I could feel their fear. I could feel _everything_.”

That’s not the worst of it and the a new wave of tears punch another broken noise out of him. “The _others_ , Dean! They’re suffering and I couldn’t - I didn’t - I _can’t_ -”

He can’t save them. No matter how much Castiel loves and misses them, there’s nothing he can do for them now. Even if Victor and Charlie were willing to help him again, the worst part of this is that Castiel isn’t even sure he would be able to make that trip a second time. The mere thought of it makes bile sting the back of his throat and he pulls himself closer to Dean. Going back to that place terrifies him, and he’s not even strong enough to say it out loud.

Dean doesn’t ask any more questions. He doesn’t even make soothing sounds to try and comfort him. All he does is hold Castiel tighter. This is something not even Dean will be able to help him with. The knowledge that his friends and family are still down there is something that will haunt Castiel to the end of his days. He can’t even imagine what his nightmares are going to be like now.

*

“You’re kidding, right?” Usually Dean’s voice is a sound Castiel welcomes. Today it’s nothing more than a hammer to his skull. “Look at him, Sam! I’m not leaving Cas like this.”

He pulls the blankets higher over his shoulders, curling deeper into the near nest of pillows that Dean’s made for him on the bed. It does little to escape the sound of Sam’s frustrated sigh. “I _know_ , Dean. You think I’m not worried about him too? But there’s only _one_ trial left and _we_ need to go catch a demon for it. The sooner we do that, the sooner Cas can finish the trial, and the sooner he can get better.”

“If you say _‘sooner’_ one more time, I’m gonna –”

“Would you idiots stop arguing with each other for five bloody minutes? You’re giving me a headache and Cassie isn’t faring any better.”

The addition of Balthazar’s voice might actually make things worse and Castiel almost wishes they would all move to the other motel room, but he can’t stand to be alone right now. There’s always something about being sick that makes him crave company – even if he’s felt a dark blush burn his cheeks every time Dean has seen him throw up over the last few days.

If only he could go back to the queasy feeling from before the second trial. Anything would be better than this, really. He can keep down liquids, but anything solid is almost automatically rejected by his stomach. A fever keeps him warm, but he’s wracked with shivers that nearly make the whole bed vibrate as if it had the magic fingers that he’s found Dean to be fond of.

Sam and Dean are quiet for a few minutes, but the same debate starts up soon enough. Castiel’s patience is wearing thin and he throws the blanket off as he pushes himself up, doing it slow enough that the room doesn’t spin completely once he’s upright. He fixes Dean with a bleary squint and takes a slight satisfaction in how he flinches from it.

“You have to go. I don’t want to feel like this anymore and finishing the third trial is only going to help.” It’s an effort to stay sitting up, but Castiel forces himself to do it. “If we’re lucky, I might actually be a little better by the time you catch a demon.”

“But Cas –”

“No one wants you here more than I do, Dean, but getting this done is more important than you staying to comfort me.” His arm wobbles where it’s holding him up and Castiel gives in, laying down again and dragging the blanket with him. “Please, just finish this soon.”

Dean shifts from foot to foot and glares around the room before his whole frame sags with defeat. “Fine. But if anything happens –” He points at Balthazar. “– you call me immediately. Got it?”

“I’ve held Cassie’s hair back while he’s been sick since he was in diapers. We’ll be fine.” Balthazar drops into the chair next to the bed and holds out a bottle of water with a straw in it. “Go catch us a demon so you two can start making gross kissy faces again.”

*

It takes Dean and Sam a few days to call with a location for them to meet. Castiel is no better than when they left and he leans heavily on Balthazar’s arm during the short walk from their motel to the car. He’s more than a little grateful that the trials will be over with soon. If the sickness wasn’t hard enough to bear, Castiel has been subjected to the same role reversal joke almost every time Balthazar has had to do something to help him. And he’s not sure he can take another hour of bad cable television or a night of restless sleep and nightmares.

The only break Castiel has had was the walk Balthazar took yesterday. After another fitful nightmare, Castiel had broke down and told him about the other children still trapped in hell with Father Christopher. That conversation was unpleasant and Castiel regrets ever saying anything. If he could turn back time, he’d never share the burden of this knowledge with his brother.

Thankfully, it’s a relatively short drive to the location they were given – only a few hours away, actually. Castiel is mildly impressed with the abandoned Church and its overgrown graveyard. He’s even more impressed by how heavily warded it is. There are symbols painted all around the building, on the windows, walls and roof, and even on the dirt outside – for however well that will hold.

Dean is waiting for him at the side of the road. He pulls the door open and offers his hand to help him out of the car. “How you feeling?”

“Tired.” Castiel can’t help his smile as he gets to his feet. It’s nice to see Dean again. “Where did you even find this place?”

“Internet.” He shrugs and puts an arm around Castiel’s back. “Sam’s waiting with the demon de jour. How are you feeling? You ready for this?”

After a deep breath, Castiel nods. “Let’s get this over with.”

With Dean’s help, they make their way inside. On the way, Castiel takes note of the thick line of salt laid just inside the door. From what he can tell, it goes around the entire perimeter of the single room inside the Church. His attention to the details that Sam and Dean put into the room is quickly stolen by the demon strapped to a chair in the middle of an intricate devil’s trap.

 _Meg_.


	18. Heaven and Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is light and sound. Chaos and storms. The end and the beginning.
> 
> And nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunting for Faith started as an art exchange between Papp and myself. It was only supposed to be the first chapter, but I don't regret it growing into the amazing piece that it is today. I can honestly say, without a doubt, that Faith is one of my top favourites of what I've written.
> 
> Working together on this has been a fantastic experience and we've both grown so much through this fic. We want to thank you from the bottom of our hearts for reading Faith and supporting us through the rough scheduling mishaps we've had over the last few months. Honestly, we can never thank you enough for it.
> 
> We hope you'll stick around for future projects we're going to be working on together ♥

“Surprise!” Dean gestures grandly toward the center of the room and, more specifically, at Meg.

She’s glowering at them over her shoulder, teeth grinding down on the rag pulled tightly between them. Her wrists and ankles are pinned to the sturdy chair by wide metal cuffs, matched by the collar around her throat and attached to the chair by a short chain. Everything is inscribed with delicately detailed symbols. Castiel barely recognizes any of them. It seems that Sam and Dean didn’t pull any punches when it came to setting up and he feels momentarily proud of them for it.

“We chalked a devil’s trap on the top of the Impala’s trunk.” Sam explains, getting up from his seat on one of the pews facing the chair. “When we summoned Meg, we shoved her in and booked it like a bat out of hell before she called any friends.”

Balthazar snorts. “That sounds like it went almost too well. Are you sure she wasn’t _trying_ to be caught?”

“I didn’t say we got her in the trunk _easily_.” He mutters, rubbing his arm and wincing as if there are bruises hidden under his clothing.

“But why _Meg_?” The hand Balthazar has on Castiel’s shoulder tightens painfully as he makes a choked noise. “Of all the demons, it had to be _her_?”

Dean shrugs and urges them both closer. “I thought she’d be the best to use to give you the chance to, I dunno, work out some issues or something.”

“ _Issues_.” Castiel repeats, the old familiar anger starting to froth in his chest again.

Since his trip into hell, he can’t help but feel like his hatred for Meg has doubled. His hands are shaking and he can’t remember if they were doing it before or if it’s from seeing _her_ with the fresh knowledge of what’s happening to Father Christopher and the other children – what’s _been_ happening to them for – _no_. He can’t think about that right now. It’s just going to distract him.

Which means he should get it out of the way first.

“Ungag her.” He looks toward Sam, surprised by how steady his voice is. “I want to hear what she has to say for herself.”

One of Meg’s eyebrows arches up her forehead, dropping back into a glare the moment Sam approaches her. She makes a face and moves her jaw side to side once the cloth is removed. Almost immediately, Meg throws her head back with a laugh. “What do you think you’re playing at, boys? Are you trying to piss Azazel off, or something?” She snorts and the look she gives Castiel is nearly pleased. “I would’ve thought that kidnapping was beneath you, Clarence. I’m actually a little impressed.”

Castiel chooses to ignore the taunts and turns away to remove his coat, tossing it over the back of a pew. Her words are like barbed wire under his skin, but Castiel is comforted by the knowledge that Meg has no idea what’s about to happen to her. He shouldn’t take pleasure in it, but after what she’s done to the people he loves, he’ll allow himself this one moment.

“Dean, could you get the needle, please?” Castiel glances at Dean and nods toward the bag that Balthazar brought in. “And Balthazar, please watch the door.”

His upper lip curls and Dean has to almost pry Balthazar’s fingers from the handles of the bag to take it from him. Balthazar did not take the news well about their friends and family being stuck in hell. The glare he has pinned on Meg is cold and dangerous. “Let me rough her up a bit, Cassie. For Fath–”

“No.” Castiel cuts in, pausing as he rolls up the sleeve on his left arm to give his brother a look that leaves no room for argument. “Watch the door.”

It wouldn’t be appropriate to hurt Meg now – not with everything they’re about to put her through. If Balthazar is still feeling particularly bloodthirsty when they’re finished, then Castiel might not stop him. Even after all these years, Castiel still doesn’t know what he wants to do with Meg. He’s wanted her dead for so long, but now that he has her here and the burden of knowing what really happened to everyone he cared about – death doesn’t seem fitting enough.

Balthazar doesn’t go to the door quietly. He kicks the edge of one of the ancient pews as he turns away and he mutters under his breath the whole length of the Church until he can stand by one of the windows next to the door, watching the road just in case any of Meg’s friends _do_ decide to show up. Castiel completely trusts Dean and Sam’s ability to hide them and what they’re doing, but Meg is slippery and it wouldn’t be the first time that the demons have found them while they’re hiding.

“What’s that?”

Castiel looks back to Meg to see her staring at the folded medical kit that Dean has taken out of the bag. He’s holding it open across his hands while Sam screws the needle onto one of the syringes. There are several syringes tucked into the pockets of the kit, and various gauges of needles, but they’ll only need the one for this. No one answers her question, but Dean does flash a grin that is little more than a chilling twist of his lips. It even gives Castiel goosebumps.

Meg’s frown only gets deeper when they put the kit away and pull out the cord for the tourniquet. “What the hell are you idiots doing? What’s that for?”

“You want to tell her, or should I?” The grin Dean gives Castiel is more amused than anything else as he ties the tourniquet around his upper arm.

“Tell me what?” She looks back and forth between them, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

With a deep breath to calm himself, Castiel looks away from his arm while Sam finds the vein and disinfects the area. An eerie calm is settling in his chest even while looking at Meg. “Recently I had the unpleasant experience of taking a trip to your hometown. Do you know what I found there?”

Groaning, Meg rolls her head against the back of the chair. “Do we have to go through the small talk? Can’t we just get right to the torturing? It’ll hurt le–” She stops suddenly and leans forward as far as the chain will let her. “My hometown – as in _hell_? How did you - When did you - _Why_?”

Balthazar’s bitter laugh echoes from the front of the Church. “Oh, _please_ let me tell her.”

“After we’re finished the first one.” Castiel winces when Sam pushes the needle under his skin. He looks down and watches him pull the plunger to fill the syringe.  “We’ve got eight hours. We can’t use up all our topics of conversation too soon. Dean, hold her head.”

Meg struggles in the chair, trying to lean out of reach. Dean quickly moves behind the chair and grabs her with one hand under her chin and the other on the top of her head. She hisses a string of swears as he tilts her head to the side, baring the side of her throat and a pulsing jugular vein that isn’t quite covered by the collar.

“What are you _doing_?” She hisses, watching with a mixture of confusion and rage as Sam hands Castiel the syringe full of blood to hold while he removes the tourniquet and slaps a small bandage on his arm. “What’s that for?”

“Now, Cassie?” Balthazar has completely abandoned his post by the window to join them.

He shakes his head. “You can tell her what we’ve done. _After_.” This moment is for _him_. Castiel leans forward until he’s looking down at Meg, staring her straight in the eye. He presses the point of the needle against her throat. “We’re purifying you.”

As her expression twists into one of horror, Castiel pushes the needle in and depresses the plunger, injecting his blood. There’s a prayer he has to say and it’s a tumble of Latin from his tongue. He’s barely finished the final syllable before Meg starts convulsing in the chair. Dean lets her go and steps back, watching as she grabs the ends of the armrests in a white knuckled grip and shudders violently, her head lolling as her eyes turn black. His attention quickly shifts to Castiel as he gasps and staggers back at a surge of pain through his limbs. He nearly drops the syringe when light lances under his skin, blazing like lightning bolts.

It burns and he nearly loses his footing. Balthazar grabs him around the waist, keeping him on his feet long enough to guide him back to one of the pews while Sam takes the syringe to put it away until they need it again in an hour. Castiel does not look forward to feeling the pain again. It lasted a longer this time, and he fears it’s just going to get worse every time he has to do this today.

“The timer’s set.” Sam puts a bottle of water in Castiel’s hand. “You’ve got an hour to relax.”

Dean sits next to him, an arm thrown over the back of the pew and around Castiel’s shoulders to help keep him upright. “ _Now_ how are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Castiel mumbles, giving him a weak smile and getting one in return. “I’ll be fine in time for the second injection.” He glances up at Balthazar. “Go ahead and tell her now.”

Meg is surprisingly quiet while Balthazar launches into explaining the trials in excruciating detail. She slouches in the chair, breathing hard as she calms down from the convulsions. Her eyes flick between them all, resting on Castiel when Balthazar talks about the trip to hell. He does his best not to listen to that anymore. It’s already hard enough to attempt to forget all of it.

The moment he’s finished speaking, there’s a brief time where Meg doesn’t say anything. Her laughter starts quietly, a low chuckle in her throat before she throws her head back. “You’ve got to be _kidding me_. You’re going to close the gates of hell? Impossible.”

“It doesn’t sound like she was listening. Does it, Sam?” Dean snorts and looks over at his brother before he turns his grin on Meg again. “We’ve got two of _three_ down. You’re the last trial, dumbass. Once we’re done here, it’s bye-bye demons. All your little girl guide friends are going to be trapped on the other side and you’ll be here. Here and _mortal_.”

That’s when Meg starts cursing them out. The only reprieve they have from her colourful and rather creative swearing is when Balthazar gets bored after the second injection and gags her before she can start again.

*

Castiel is a trembling mess by the fourth injection. He can barely hold his hand still long enough to stick the needle under her skin and he needs Dean’s help to hold him steady. Balthazar is on his other side, there to hold him up if he can’t stay standing after the prayer. Meg screams behind the gag while she spasms in the chair and Castiel cries out too as the light spreads up his arms.

It’s like fire in his veins and he can’t help doubling over, arms wrapped tight around his stomach as he’s almost carried back to the pew. He doesn’t know who has the quick thinking, but there’s suddenly a plastic bag in front of him and he doesn’t think twice about emptying his stomach into it. Dean rubs soothing circles over his back, gravitating along the length of his spine.

He can almost hear what Dean wants to say and isn’t. Dean wants them to stop. He wants them to finish this later when Castiel is feeling better but they _can’t_. It needs to be done a certain way and no matter how badly Castiel wants to quit, that won’t change how horrible he feels right now. This sickness is going to stay with him until they’re _done_.

*

After the sixth injection, Meg stops trying to talk around the gag. Even when Balthazar tentatively removes the gag, she says nothing. She’s slumped in the chair and staring blankly at the floor, breathing hard through her nose. Castiel spares her an iota of worry before he’s throwing up again. Water feels like acid in his throat, but he still chokes down half of the bottle that someone presses into his hands.

There’s been a ringing in his ears for at least an hour, and the light of the trial is constantly twisting under his skin. If he concentrates hard enough, he can almost _feel_ it moving through his veins. It makes his arms feel numb and his empty stomach clenches with the desire to throw up again.

“I think I’ve got some animal crackers in the car.” Dean murmurs next to him, a rumble of sound under his cheek. “You think you could manage to eat some of those?”

Castiel shakes his head. When Dean talks, the ringing changes. In the silence it’s just a steady stream of sound. With Dean’s voice in the mix, it rises and falls in pitches that border on the painful. If anything, it reminds Castiel of just before he first met Dean, when he was using his true voice to talk to him before he had to take his vessel.

It takes far more of Castiel’s cognitive processes to notice that the ringing only fluctuates when Sam or Dean are the ones speaking. When it’s Balthazar, there’s no change to it. They don’t talk much, preferring to give Castiel the chance to rest in between injections, but it’s enough.

“Dean.” He lifts his head and regrets it immediately at the pulse of pain through it. “I think I can hear your angel voice.”

Sam shares a worried look with Dean. “You can?”

“Yours too.” Castiel rubs a shaky hand over his face before letting his head drop to Dean’s shoulder again. It’s too much effort to hold it up and he needs to keep his strength for the injections. “It doesn’t hurt like before, and it changes when you two talk.”

“Is this a good thing or a bad thing?” Balthazar asks quietly from his other side.

“I don’t know.” Sam crouches in front of Castiel and takes his hand, pushing one of his sleeves up to see the moving light. “This almost looks like our grace. It could be that you’re starting to resonate with angels, and that makes the most sense. It would take the power of heaven to close the gates of hell. This could be a good thing.”

Dean’s arm tightens around Castiel’s shoulders. “It better be.”

“Can’t you use your freaky hand-connection thing to check on him and make sure he’s not being burned up from the inside out by this?” Balthazar asks, leaning forward and gesturing at Dean’s shoulder. “Or is that something that you’re not able to do anymore?”

Castiel shakes his head again. “Forget I said anything. It’s fine.”

“No, he’s right.” Dean starts shrugging off his coat and over shirt. “Shove your hand up my sleeve so I can make sure this isn’t killing you.”

“It’s not.” He grumbles at being jostled by Dean’s movements. “Any human would feel sick with all of this happening. I’m fine.”

Balthazar huffs and lifts Castiel’s arm for him. “You keep saying that and I’m starting to think thou dost protest too much. Now just touch the bloody tattoo you left on your boyfriend’s shoulder and let’s get this over with.”

There isn’t enough strength or will left in his body to fight them off and Castiel lets Balthazar guide his hand up under Dean’s sleeve. It’s been a while since he’s felt Dean’s grace and it’s even more diminished than before. Castiel can’t help but feel a stab of sadness at that, but it’s quickly washed away by the warm waves of Dean’s grace. He lets himself sink into that feeling; closing his eyes and forgetting about everything around him for a while. It’s easy to focus on the heat of Dean’s grace and all the feelings that come with it.

“It’s related to heaven, alright.” Dean’s voice sounds so distant. “Far as I can tell, it’s not going to leave any kind of permanent damage.”

When the grace starts to retreat, Castiel tightens his grip on Dean’s shoulder and tries to hold on to that feeling. This is the best he’s felt in hours and he doesn’t want it to leave – not when it might be one of the last times he gets to feel it. He can feel Dean hesitate before his grace slides against his soul again in a soothing, comforting touch.

*

Meg starts crying the moment she’s finished convulsing after the seventh injection. Castiel watches from his nearly permanent place on the pew as the tears streak her face. She starts mumbling a list of all the things she’s done; the people she’s killed and the lives she’s ruined. He tries not to pay any attention to it. Listening to all her sins will only make him angrier.

“I killed them.” She whispers as the hour for the eighth injection rolls closer. “I _killed_ them. They were just children and I – I helped _raise_ them and I watched them burn while I _laughed_ –” A hiccupping sob interrupts her and she spends a few minutes crying before she can continue. “All of them – all of them are down there and it’s _my fault_.”

The realization strikes Castiel hard enough that he has to grope for the second plastic bag that Balthazar had found a while ago. After he’s emptied the sparse contents of his stomach into it, Castiel has no choice but to face the harsh reality of their situation.

There is, perhaps, another ten minutes left on the timer before he has to make the eighth and final injection. It’s one of the final steps in the trial and when it’s finished, everyone from the orphanage will be trapped in hell. Right now there is the very slim chance that he, Balthazar, or even Dean or Sam, could make separate trips to save at least two souls at a time. It would take them a while, but feasibly… they could do it.

“We can’t stop, Cas.”

He tilts his head to look at Dean, flexing his fingers over the mark on his shoulder. Dean’s grace is still pushing through him like a security blanket and it’s been an immense help in making him feel better in between the injections. Of course, this opens his thoughts and feelings to Dean’s touch.

“But we –”

Dean shakes his head and he won’t meet Castiel’s eyes. “Once we started this trial, the option to save them first went up in smoke. You knew that.”

His nose stings and tears start to gather in the corners of his eyes. “I can’t leave them there.”

“Father chose to stay there to save Samandriel and Hael.” Balthazar’s hand squeezes over his knee and Castiel glances at him. “If he knew that we’re doing this to save the world from demons and the apocalypse, what do you think he’d choose now?”

There are tears in Balthazar’s eyes too and Castiel covers his hand with his own, squeezing it. He knows the answer, but he can’t stand the thought of leaving them there. Hester, Ion, Rachel, Inias, Father Christopher, and all the others – they would be stuck there forever and it would be _his_ fault.

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.” Dean whispers next to him and Castiel couldn’t stop the tears of he wanted to.

Sam finds a pack of tissues in one of the pockets of Castiel’s coat and he hands them over without question. He silences the alarm on the timer the moment it goes off to give Castiel another few minutes to gather himself while he and Dean draw the blood. His arm is going to be sore for the next few days, but that’s preferable to the ache in his chest he knows will never go away.

Meg watches them with a sulky, sniffling pout. She even tilts her head of her own accord, baring her throat to the needle. “Just get this over with.”

As soon as he’s finished the prayer, Meg gasps and throws her head back, shuddering violently against her bindings. Castiel drops the syringe and bites back a shout when the light burns through him again. He tries to fight against the pain, groping blindly at Balthazar for the knife he needs while Dean quite literally is the only reason he’s not on the floor.

The only difference this time is that the pain doesn’t stop. It’s like venom in his blood and he has to lean heavily against the side of the chair. Balthazar cuts his palm for him and blood drips through Castiel’s fingers, staining Megs coat and shirt as he blearily puts his hand over her mouth. The exorcism he needs to say is familiar – one he’s used for as long as he can remember – but it takes more effort than it should to remember it now.

He takes a deep breathing, fingers trembling against Meg’s cheek. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas –” Castiel stops to breathe raggedly as a new wave of light flares under Meg’s skin and his own. “O-omnis incur-incursio –”

His thoughts come to a sudden stop when the doors to the Church fly open. One of them even comes off its hinges and crashes into the line of pews. Castiel is barely able to stand, but he can still _just_ make out what’s happening. He doesn’t need to see the yellow eyes to recognize Azazel’s vessel.

Dean shifts Castiel’s weight so it’s Balthazar supporting him instead. “Finish that exorcism, Cas!”

But he can’t. He’s too distracted by Ava and Ruby, dirt and black paint staining their hands. The last time he’d seen either of them, they were snarky and expressive. Now their faces are blank, as if they’re barely aware of what’s going on. It’s like they’re nothing more than puppets now and he’s not surprised. This is the fate they chose for themselves. As if a demon like Azazel would ever let them keep their own will. If they aren’t possessed already, they will be eventually if he doesn’t finish this now .

“I’m very disappointed in you, Meg.” Azazel’s cold drawl is a chill down Castiel’s spine and he feels Meg shudder under his hand. “You got _caught_ and I had to use my puppets to get in here. We’ve got a busy schedule and we –” He stops suddenly and takes a few steps forward. “What have they done to you? You’re almost _human_.”

“Finish it, Cassie!” Balthazar hisses in his ear as Sam and Dean place themselves between the chair and Azazel, swords drawn and flashing in the light of the candles set up around the room.

Demons rush around Azazel to take on Sam and Dean, shoving Ava and Ruby out of the way. Castiel tightens his grip over Meg’s mouth and rushes through the last of the Latin, stumbling over a few of the pronunciations and hoping he enunciated enough for the spell to actually work.

The screams of the demons being run through with angel blades almost drown out the one that Meg gives. Her head snaps back and light pools in her eyes, streaming out nose, ears, and mouth under Castiel’s fingers. It’s almost as if she were being exorcised by an angel; bright enough that Castiel and Balthazar have to shield their eyes.

She’s barely stopped screaming when Castiel starts. He shoves himself away from Balthazar, staggering back and doubling over as holy fire burns through his limbs. It feels like it’s going to rip him apart and he doesn’t want Balthazar anywhere near him when it does. His soul is exploding. It must be to feel like this; rupturing like a firework deep inside of him and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

When the building tension gets too much, something snaps. Castiel throws his head back and his arms out as a whole new scream is punched out of him. A thousand angels are siphoning his soul. He’s being ripped apart and put back together again a million times over. The world is ending and being reborn. Billions of years pass in the matter of seconds and all Castiel can do is scream until the taste of blood is washed away by the overwhelming burn of something _holy_.

Through the pain there’s a heavy sadness in his heart. It cries out for the friends and family he’s sealing in hell for the rest of eternity. It shouts out for Sam and Balthazar, brothers he’ll never see again and the things left unsaid with them. Castiel never told Sam that he saw him as a brother, and Balthazar should be told at least once more how much he means to him. His heart calls out for Dean and the promise he broke. He won’t be coming back to him after this trial is over. This is going to kill him and Castiel never got to say goodbye.

Everything is light and sound. Chaos and storms. The end and the beginning.

And nothingness.

*

“C’mon, Cas. Don’t you fucking _dare_ do this to me – to _us_ again.”

It’s Dean’s voice, but it’s muffled and far away. Castiel feels like he’s floating, disconnected from his body. But there’s no old man to lead him to the light this time. There’s only darkness surrounding him, filling in the space where there aren’t arms wrapped around him or a chest against his shoulder. He can feel the beat of another heart and the warmth of another body, but it feels _distant_ – as if he’s not the one feeling it.

Coming back to consciousness is a step by step process. First is the smells; the curling stink of sweat and blood overlapping aged wood and the foliage outside. The sounds come back next; the combined hush of several bodies breathing, the near-silent crackle of candle flames, the wind whistling against a patchy roof. And, of course, the voices. Dean’s whispered pleading, calling his name over and over; Balthazar murmuring what might actually be a prayer; Sam reminding Dean that Castiel is still breathing and they haven’t seen a reaper yet.

Opening his eyes take effort. Castiel can barely keep them open long enough to catch a glimpse of the bodies spread in a mess across the floor of the church. The ones that fell against Dean and Sam are bleeding and broken, and the others look like they’re sleeping. If he wasn’t fighting to stay awake, Castiel would spare a moment of concern for them.

“Cas?” Dean whispers and Castiel sighs, eyes sliding closed again.

He thinks he might have said something along the lines of “I’m here”, but everything aches and it’s so much easier to sink into the dark again knowing that everyone is safe for now.

*

The next time he opens his eyes, it’s to a tacky bedspread and even more horrendous wallpaper. Breathing is easier now. Moving, even more so. Castiel feels better, physically, than he has in weeks. He can even feel the hand around his own, resting on top of the blankets on his hip. The bed is dipped behind him with the weight of another person and it doesn’t take much to guess who it is.

Slowly, he rolls onto his back and tilts his head to look at Dean, propped up against the headboard with extra pillows and the TV remote in his other hand. Whatever show he’d been watching is forgotten, his attention solely focused on Castiel.

A small, relieved smile creeps across his lips. “Hey, sleeping beauty.” Dean squeezes his hand and Castiel squeezes it in return. “Here I thought I was going to have to give you a magic kiss to wake you up.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t try that already.” He presses his heels into the bed and arches his back in a stretch. “How long have I been out?”

Dean turns off the TV and tosses the remote onto the bedside table. “Barely a day. Sam’s with Meg next door and I sent Balthazar out to get some food. He should be back any minute, actually.” He helps Castiel sit up, which turns out to be very helpful. The moment he’s upright, his brain decides to spin and tilt the world on its axis. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Thirsty.” Castiel tries to ignore the dizziness and glances around the room. “What happened after I – and the demons?”

“Gone.” Dean shrugs and makes sure that Castiel is sitting comfortably against the headboard before he finds a bottle of water in the mini-fridge next to the TV. “As soon as you pulled a Fifth Element, they went with a mimicking act and hit the dirt one after another.”

He accepts the water gratefully, letting the unknown reference slide as he takes careful sips before he can ask his next question. “What about the vessels?”

“We got Charlie to check them out for us and you couldn’t find healthier people if you tried.” A wide grin splits Dean’s face and he spreads his arms in a grand gesture. “You did it, Cas! Every last demon on Earth got sent back to the pit. Charlie knew about it before we even called her down. All of heaven knows what we’ve done!”

Castiel rubs a hand over his face and looks out the window next to the door. “What about Ava and Ruby? And the vessels? Did you just leave them there?”

Dean shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets as he sits on the edge of the bed. “We didn’t have a choice. The church was warded against demons. Not angels. We had to get the hell out of there and fast. Charlie brought us here after she wiped Ava and Ruby’s minds. They don’t need to remember the shit that they did. None of those vessels are going to remember either.” He tilts another grin at Castiel. “Don’t worry, though. We left them with a burner phone. They’ll be able to call for help.”

This still feels so surreal. All the demons are gone? Really?

“What about Meg?”

“As human as the vessel she took over.” He stands up again suddenly and heads to a door in the wall next to the TV. “Hold on, let me get Sam. He’s been the one watching her since me and your dick brother wanted to be here for when you woke up.”

Castiel glances at the door to the parking lot. “How did you convince Balthazar to go?”

“I won the coin toss – best two out of three.”

“Did you cheat?”

He opens the door, revealing a second one behind it, and grins over his shoulder. “Maybe.” Knocking, Dean turns back to the task at hand. “Hey, Sammy! You two decent?”

The other door opens almost immediately and Sam’s sour frown is so painfully familiar that Castiel can only smile at it. “Don’t even joke. What do you wan- Cas!” He shoves past Dean into their room. “You’re awake! How are you feeling?”

While they wait for Balthazar to return, Castiel goes through the same series of questions with Sam as he did with Dean. He only has food and the same question to look forward to later, but it wouldn’t be fair to wait until Balthazar was back to answer them all. At least Sam fills in a few details that Dean didn’t, though they’re mostly about Meg.

She’s been handcuffed to the bed in the other room almost since the moment Charlie brought them all here, though she was unconscious at the time. Charlie had even given her a thorough angelic once over to make sure that she was fully human. According to her, there isn’t a trace of demonic taint left in Meg.

Unlike Castiel, she had woken up a few hours after they arrived. The only time that Meg has been allowed free is for anything involving the bathroom. Apparently she’s complained a few times, but according to Sam she’s mostly been quiet and just watching TV.

“And having a few breakdowns.” He runs a hand through his hair and glances at the open doors between the rooms. “It’s what a few decades of living up to your demonic nature will get you. There’s a lot of memories of sinning she’s working through and I don’t know if her newfound conscience is going to be able to handle it.”

Knowing that doesn’t change anything about how Castiel feels about her. Hatred still simmers in his chest, an angry burn that has no business being in a _priest_ of all people. Castiel knows it’s something that will never go away. What she did to him, to his friends, to his _family_ and their fate – it’s something that he can’t ever forgive.

“Here’s a thought; let’s dump her in a convent.” Dean snorts a laugh as he drops onto the bed next to Castiel again, trying his best not to jostle him. “Maybe she’ll be able to handle the whole _once-upon-a-demon_ thing better by devoting the rest of her life to God.”

“It’s a thought.” Castiel muses, nursing the bottle of water in his hands. It’s certainly something they should consider. Despite how he feels about what she’s done, Castiel is surprised to find that he’s lacking the drive for revenge that he once had.

Sam glances between them and once at the door before he frowns at Castiel. “She’s not coming to live with us or anything, right? That would be weird.”

“Of course not.” He shakes his head and looks down at his lap. “We’ll figure that out eventually. Right now, we can take a few minutes to relax. I’m fine, the demons are gone, and we have the heaven tablet that Chuck should hopefully be translating at this very moment.”

At the mention of Chuck, Sam and Dean share a look and it’s one that Castiel doesn’t like. “What? Did you forget to call Chuck and tell him we succeeded?”

“Actually, _he_ called _us_.” Dean explains, leaning over to scoop the remote off the side table and turn on the TV. “He wanted to know what the hell we did because this has been going non-stop since you pulled your fireworks act and made us all shit our collective pants.”

He flicks to a news station and mutes the current anchor droning on about the weather. That’s ultimately unimportant. The bit that Castiel sits forward to look at is the marquee scrolling across the bottom of the screen boasting information about the climbing count of people reported to have had glowing eyes before they passed out. Better yet, there’s a smaller marquee below with a number to call should anyone who wakes up be talking about demonic possession.

“Worldwide panic.” Sam sighs, slumping down onto the end of the bed. “It’s on every news station across the board. Thousands of people all over the world lit up like Azazel – in stores, on the streets, in homes. There was a spike in car accidents and a few planes nearly lost control too. Demons were _everywhere_.”

“They were gearing up for the big showdown.” Dean shrugs and turns the TV off again, chucking the remote onto the other bed. “But we shut them down and we shut them down _hard_. Enough for heaven to notice, that’s for sure.”

Castiel briefly wishes there was something they could do to stop the panic of the general public. If they could somehow put out a notice for people to understand that it is a _good_ thing that this happened, maybe they could help circumvent mass hysteria. Maybe he’ll ask Frank to do something about it on the internet. Aside from that, there isn’t much that they’re going to be able to do.

The world will move on as it always does, anyways. Though, maybe this will open the public’s eyes to the supernatural. The more people who know, the safer the world will be. Their panic might actually be a _good_ thing, as weird as that may seem. Castiel will have to think about it later. Right now there are other things that need his attention.

All this talk of public panic just makes it all the more real. Hell is _actually_ locked down. The demons are _gone_. Now there’s nothing but heaven to handle before they can finally return home.

Sam clears his throat. “Speaking of heaven. These rooms are warded, but we need to get somewhere safer until Chuck is done with the other tablet. Charlie said heaven isn’t handling this change so well. Everyone who was in on the apocalypse is spitting mad and that’s just adding to the confusion of all the angels who didn’t know what was going on in the first place.”

Dean winces and glances at the door. “According to Charlie, Zachariah was already screaming for our heads before we even called for her.”

“Where can we go?” Castiel slumps into the pillows behind him, wracking his brain for some place safe from angels. “Can we afford to stay in a motel for a month? We won’t be able to camp out in Chuck’s living room for that long. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”

“It might be better if we keep moving around. They won’t be able to get a bead on us if we’re never in the same place for more than a few days at a time.” Sam gets up to cautiously peer between the curtains. “The less we’re outside where people can see us, the better. If Zachariah really does decide to come after us, he could ask any devout human to keep an eye out and give up a prayer when they see us.”

Well, that’s certainly new. But it’s good that Castiel learns this now. The more information that he has before they leave, the better a plan he can devise. It will just take a lot of thinking. And who knows how long it’s going to be before he’ll actually be well enough to get up and move around. Sitting up was a dizzying effort, even if the rest of him feels fine.

“Balthazar’s back.” Sam announces, going to the door to let him in.

“And I’ve brought sub sandwiches!” He lifts the bags proudly only to dump them on the table and stomp over to the bed. “It’s about damn time you woke up. I don’t like being worried, Cassie. It’s not good for my skin. I get _wrinkles_.”

Castiel smothers a laugh behind his hand and smiles up at the triumphant grin spreading over Balthazar’s face. “I’m sorry to have worried you. I’ll try not to do it again anytime soon.”

“Good. I didn’t know if you were going to be up or not, but I bought you chicken soup just in case.” Balthazar sniffs and heads back to the table where Dean is already picking out which of the sandwiches is his. “You haven’t eaten properly in days, so you damn well better eat the whole thing. I call ‘not it’ for taking Meg her supper.”

Sam rolls his eyes and grabs the only sandwich still in the bag. “I’ll be right back.”

As they settle down with their respective meals, Balthazar brings to attention the one thing Castiel doesn’t know how to answer. “So, what do we do now?”

“We should get moving as soon as we’re done. I’m feeling better and I can rest more in the car if need be.” Castiel explains, gesturing with his spoon between careful sips of his soup. “The longer we’re here, the easier it will be for Zachariah to find us. We need a safe house and a plan.”

“Great.” Balthazar kicks his feet up on the table and tilts back in his chair. “Now we get to deliberate for ages on _where_ we’re going to go. Not that we haven’t been having _so_ much fun with that topic already.”

“I still say we should visit Chuck.” Sam’s voice precedes his appearance in the doorway to the other room. “Zachariah isn’t an idiot. He’s going to know that we needed the tablets to do this and he knows that we needed a prophet to read them. If he hasn’t already noticed that Chuck’s house is warded against angels, he’s going to find out pretty damn soon.”

Castiel stomach twists and he puts the soup aside, saving it for later. “It’s already been too long since we closed hell. He might already have someone watching Chuck’s house for us. The moment we show up, they’ll be on us.”

“What about the banishing sigil?” Dean offers around a mouthful of sandwich. “If we give Chuck the heads up, he can be prepped to get the hell out of dodge before we even pull up. Me and Sam can hang back while he makes a break for the car with you and Balthazar. The moment any angels show their ugly mugs, you lay down the blood whammy and get the fuck out of there.”

“But what if Chuck doesn’t want to leave his house?”

Balthazar snorts a snide laugh. “Like he’s going to have much choice. Either the poor bastard is going to be cooped up in his house getting groceries delivered, or we can try warding him like you did us and getting him to some place a bit more safe.”

Sam shakes his head, not bothering with his own food yet. “I think we’re all forgetting about the _archangel_ protecting him. I think Raphael is the one in charge of Chuck and he’s going to be locked on to him like sonar. The moment we hide Chuck and he drops off the map, Raphael is going to hit Earth looking for him.”

“It would be safer for Chuck to stay in his home, then.” Castiel stares blankly across the room while his thoughts fall together like puzzle pieces. “He rarely leaves his home as is. If his safety is in question, he might be willing to stay inside until the heaven tablet is completely translated and the trials completed. With email, he’ll be able to get everything to us without having to leave.”

“Excellent. Let’s give him a call from the road, then.” Balthazar finishes off his sandwich with a disgustingly large bite and springs from his chair before all four legs are securely on the floor. “I might actually kill something if we have to spend another moment in this stupid motel with _her_.” He stops and glances towards the door. “Speaking of. Cassie, what do we do with our pretty little captive? Is mind-wiping in the cards for her, or are we still pondering the option of killing her for vengeance?”

A hollow space opens up behind Castiel ribs and he carefully slides out of the bed, surprised that he doesn’t wobble on his feet the moment they take his weight. He hasn’t been to see Meg since he woke up and he has absolutely no desire for it. After everything that happened yesterday, his drive for revenge feels severely dampened.

Dean stands up and gestures at the door between the rooms. “I need to talk to Cas alone now.”

“This really isn’t the time for hanky-panky.” Balthazar rolls his eyes, but there’s a teasing smirk tugging a corner of his mouth up as he follows Sam into the other room and shuts the door.

Castiel sighs and leans into Dean’s side the moment he’s close enough for it, letting Dean guide him back to sit on the edge of one of the beds. Dean’s arm is warm around him and it’s so easy to let his head drop to rest against Dean’s shoulder. His hands flex against his thighs when Dean leans his cheek against the top of his head.

“What do you want to do about her?”

“I don’t know.” He murmurs, staring at the carpet. “I’m very tired.” Of so many things. His hate for Meg; this war against heaven and hell; the battle they still have to face with the trials to close heaven.  He just wants to go home and go back to his moderately normal life.

After a moment of silence, Dean’s arm tightens around his shoulders. “You scared me back there.”

“I scared me too.” Castiel squeezes his eyes shut against the memory of what it was like to finish the trial. If he lets himself dwell on it too long, he can almost feel the pain again.

“Yeah, well, don’t do shit like that again.” Dean turns his head and his words get muffled into Castiel’s hair. “Let someone else do the heaven trials, okay? I’ve lost all of heaven. Don’t make me lose you too.”

His heart does a summersault against his ribs and Castiel lifts his head to meet Dean’s eyes. There’s fear and worry and something so much deeper in them. Almost automatically, Castiel’s hand moves to Dean’s shoulder, squeezing through the layers of clothing over the mark he left there. “You won’t.”

He pulls Dean’s hand to his sternum where, in heaven, he’d seen the shifting mark Dean’s grace had left on him. It’s such a small gesture, but he hopes Dean gets the message he can’t quite bring himself to say. _I’m yours_. A low, needy noise rumbles in the back of Dean’s throat and he fists his hand in the front of Castiel’s shirt, tugging him forward into a surprisingly tender kiss. Castiel chooses to believe that this is Dean’s answer. _I’m yours too._

“And don’t you ever forget it, Cas.” Dean whispers between breaths.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

A smile edges its way into their kisses and Castiel leans more into Dean’s side, grounding himself in the solid feel of his body. They’re both here. Hell is behind them, the doors firmly shut, and they survived. There’s more to face, but Castiel is sure he can take it one step at a time as long as he has Dean, Balthazar and Sam with him.

Dean doesn’t let Castiel pull away. He draws him back in with teasing curls of his tongue and warm hands spread wide over his back. It’s deliriously good and Castiel can’t help but forget that their brothers are waiting for them.

At least until Balthazar knocks on the door again. “The talking stopped. Does that mean we come back now? Meg is watching a soap opera and I hate it.”

Regretfully, Castiel pulls away from the kisses and gets to his feet. “His complaining aside, he has a point. If we’re going to leave, we need to figure out what to do with Meg and finish packing.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean rolls his eyes and Castiel pulls him to his feet. “We’ll call Chuck from the road?”

“That would be best.” He carefully makes his way across the room to open the door for the others and grabs his bag on his way back to the bed. His grip doesn’t feel quite as strong as it should, but he’s still recovering. Hopefully he’ll be back to normal soon. “While we’re packing and cleaning up, we can think about what we’re going to do with Meg.”

That said, in the short time it takes to pack what few things had made it out of their bags during their brief stay, no one has any idea what to do with Meg. For the first time since he woke up, Castiel goes into the room to see her. Four sets of handcuffs are linked together and attached to the bed frame, giving her enough slack to move around the bed a little. When he enters the room and puts his bag down, she spares him a glance before slumping further into the pillows.

“Well, what’s the verdict?” She turns off the TV and drops the remote. “Do I live to see the sun rise?”

“You’re coming with us until we know what to do with you.” Even the words taste bitter. He doesn’t want to have to do it, but they have little choice right now. They’ve been here for too long and they need to get moving before Zachariah finds them.

Balthazar tosses Castiel a wet cloth as he comes out of the bathroom. “We’re on graffiti duty. The angels get to play at guard duty.”

“Oh joy. A road trip with Tweedledee and Tweedledum.” Meg sighs and holds her arm out, the handcuffs jingling along her wrist. “Please tell me someone has some sleeping pills so I won’t have to listen to the shitty music. I could hear it through the trunk, and your boy toy needs better taste, Clarence.” She grins up at Sam as he starts fishing around in his pockets for the key. “I don’t know how you put up with it, Tweedledee.”

“I’m sure as hell not _Tweedledum_.” Dean mutters, standing at the end of the bed and glaring at Meg. “For that, you’re riding in the damn trunk again.”

Castiel stifles the urge to roll his eyes. Balthazar was the smart one and he ducked out into the other room to clean it before Castiel had even thought to do so. He’d rather be in there instead of listening to the barbed bickering passing back and forth between Meg and Dean. It doesn’t really matter how Meg is transported to the next motel, as long as they get there without any troubles.

A list of everything that could go wrong runs through his mind while he diligently wipes away the warding marks made in pencil on the motel walls. Despite that, not one of those situations includes the door to the room blowing off its hinges at the same moment everything made of glass shatters. Castiel ducks and covers his head with his arms to shield himself from the shower of window glass next to him, a similar moment from heaven flickering through his mind before it’s washed away in a tide of worry for the others in the room.

There had been a mirror on the wall above the bed where Sam and Meg were, and Dean had been in the path of the door. Did the same thing even happen in the other room to Balthazar? Is he alright?

Once the glass has stopped falling, Castiel immediately looks to their safety. Dean is basically sitting on top of the desk, staring at the door partially laying where he’d been standing only moments before. Sam is standing up slowly, shaking glass out of his hair while double checking to make sure that Meg is alright too. Relief nearly brings Castiel to his knees, but he needs to know that Balthazar is alright too before he can think of anything else.

He’s barely even halfway across the room before Balthazar is in the doorway, glass in his hair and confusion on his face. “What the hell just happened?”

“Allow me to be the one to answer that.”

Castiel recognizes the sleazy salesman voice before he even turns around. “ _Zachariah_.”

Dean reacts faster than he does, nearly pushing Castiel out of the way to get to his bag on the empty bed and the angel angel blade resting on top of it. He takes two steps and a sickening snapping crunch overlaps the click of Zachariah’s fingers. With a pained shout, Dean hits the floor. With another snap of his fingers, Sam grunts and Castiel almost flinches from the snap-crunch as his legs give out from under him too.

This time there’s no forced, fake smile pasted across Zachariah’s face. He looks truly delighted to see Dean and Sam in pain as he steps out of the way for a half dozen other angels to file into the room. They  drag Dean and Sam upright, their hands on their shoulders to fold them forward as their arms are twisted up and back to hold them in place. Meg is mercifully silent, watching with wide eyes while simultaneously trying to make herself as small as possible against the headboard.

Castiel is frozen to the spot, one hand held out to keep Balthazar from moving, the other inching toward the sheathed knife tucked away in the small of his back. It won’t do much good against an angel, but maybe it will buy them some time for Balthazar to get the Colt. Various scenarios play across his mind as he surveys their situation.

If he moves, Zachariah might break his legs too and Castiel needs to remain mobile if one the plan barely starting to unfold in his head will stand any chance of succeeding. He needs to create a distraction long enough for Balthazar to slip back into the other room and get to work on a banishing seal.

All it takes is a quick look to get the message across to his brother.

A cold chill slinks down Castiel’s spine when Zachariah glances at him, eyes narrowed. They crinkle as a sadistic grin unfolds under them. “It’s been so long since these two idiots have been angels – have you forgotten we can read minds, Father Collins?”

That chill flares into fear, spreading through Castiel’s stomach. He looks at Balthazar just in time to see Zachariah send him across the room with the flick of his wrist. A nice dent is left in the wall where Balthazar hits it and he collapses in a heap to the floor, blood already starting to trickle down from under his hairline.

“I really must thank you for bringing along the hell-bitch. She was easy enough to track and we just had to wait until you poked your head out of your little hidey-hole.”

He knows Zachariah is going to be close behind him when he turns around. Castiel can feel it like a charge of static electricity tingling across his skin. There is no hesitation in drawing the knife as he turns, driving the blade into the clean suit covering Zachariah’s chest. It was a vicious and pointless move, but it makes Castiel feel vindictively better for the split second he has before a hand closes around his throat.

Zachariah lifts him from his feet with the same effort Castiel would exert with picking up a piece of paper and the same regard he would give a particularly annoying insect. Castiel scrabbles at his arm, trying to find purchase to pull himself up. Panic is building fast in a tornado of fear, swooping through his chest. Zachariah’s hand is like a vice around his throat and he can’t _breathe_.

No matter how hard he kicks or squirms, the world is getting darker around the edges. Castiel can’t spare the thought of being worried when Zachariah pulls the knife out of his chest. Is he going to stab him with it? What does it matter? He can’t breathe and he can’t keep his grip – his blood is pounding, pounding, pounding in his ears and air – he just needs one little gasp – please – Dean –

The first breath that actually makes it to his lungs is nirvana and hell all at the same time. Castiel folds to his knees when Zachariah practically drops him, chest burning with the first several gulps of air. There’s still a hand around his throat and it’s not easy to breathe around it, but Castiel can still gasp a breath and that’s all that matters. It’s hard to even notice the blunt edge of the blade being pressed against the side of his face.

“Do you know how many _plans_ you ruined?” Zachariah hisses, leaving a streak of his vessel’s blood down Castiel’s cheek when he moves the knife away to gesturing with it. “It was _God’s_ plan for the apocalypse to happen. We had it all laid out and ready to go and you colossal _morons_ just _had_ to traipse in here with your hearts of gold and throw all our hard work down the shitter.”

His furious eyes flick from Castiel to Dean. One of the angels holding him in place grabs him by the hair, jerking his head up so Dean has no choice but to look at them. Zachariah’s smile slips wider, like an oil slick and he brings the point of the knife to the soft underside of Castiel’s jaw. Judging by the sharp sting, he pushed hard enough to break the skin.

“I’m going to make you watch, Abdiel.” His grip goes tighter, forcing a choked sound of objection out of Castiel. Dean’s eyes go wide and he winces as he struggles against the hands holding him down. It only seems to fuel Zachariah’s glee for this moment. “You’re going to watch me take your precious human apart atom by atom.”

“ _No_ –” Dean’s voice cuts off with just a gesture from Zachariah even though his mouth keeps moving.

Zachariah taps the flat of the blade against Castiel’s cheek. “Don’t interrupt, Abdiel. It’s rude. But we’ll fix that, I’m sure. When I’m done with your meddling humans, I’m taking you and Deuel back to heaven. Michael and Raphael can’t _wait_ to get their hands on you.”

Castiel hasn’t felt this helpless since the moment in hell when he realized he wouldn’t be able to carry another soul out of there. There’s nothing he can do to hurt Zachariah to stop this. If he tries anything, it would be a simple matter to crush his throat, or bury the blade in his belly. Every breath is labored and broken. He’s hardly getting enough air and Castiel can barely think beyond the fear in Dean’s eyes and the horror in Sam’s and that clawing, desperate panic burrowing deeper in his chest.

“Oh, don’t worry, Father.” Zachariah sneers and drops the knife. “That’s much too archaic for my tastes. We’re going to do this the good ol’ fashioned heaven way.”

The sharp breath Castiel tries to take is almost cut off completely as Zachariah’s free hand starts to glow, light spreading from a pool in the center of his palm. The maniacal grin behind it is just as terrifying as the hand approaching his face. How is Castiel supposed to get out of this? For the first time in as long as he can remember, his mind is completely empty. There are no plans; no sparks of last minute brilliance to save him.

He gasps around the last breath before Zachariah squeezes too tightly for him to breathe. Castiel’s gaze slips to Dean one last time before he closes his eyes. It’s one last ditch effort that has a prayer slipping across his mind as the static darkness grows to encompass his whole consciousness. There should be no surprise that it’s a prayer to God to keep Balthazar, Sam and Dean safe, but Castiel hasn’t let himself think about God for over a month. It’s at least a little startling.

Even more so when there’s an answer.

“Let them go, Zachariah.”

This voice is familiar too, though Castiel can barely hear it over the beat of his own heart hammering in his chest. He opens his eyes, but black has crept into his vision and he can barely see past the still glowing palm in front of him.

Zachariah snarls, but he isn’t looking at Castiel anymore. “ _No_! You took this from me once, you’re not doing it again!” His hand drops and he stands up straighter, his grip loosening just enough for Castiel to inhale and his vision to clear.

It clears enough that Castiel can see Joshua sitting on the bed next to Meg. She’s staring at him and flinches when he lays a hand over her forehead. Instead of the burning bright light Castiel is used to seeing, there is nothing but a soft sigh as she slumps over. Her chest still moves with the deep inhalations of sleep.

“You shouldn’t even _be_ here.” Zachariah spits, his face going red. “I have direct orders from Michael to bring these renegades home and to eradicate anyone who gets in my way. This pitiful _human_ is doing just that.”

“I’m sure even you can imagine the only reason I would ever leave heaven.” Joshua says slowing as he stands. Despite his relaxed demeanor, the glance he gives the angels holding Dean and Sam down is sharp and full of warning. “Leave.”

They all share a unnerved look between each other, one even looking to Zachariah for a sign of what to do. He snorts and his lip curls in a sneer. “You don’t listen to him, you listen to _me_.”

Joshua sighs, and shakes his head in disappointment. He takes one hand from his pocket and snaps his fingers together. The other angels disappear without warning. Immediately, Dean and Sam collapse, barely catching themselves on their hands, wincing and hissing in pain as they struggle to get upright on their broken legs. Joshua clicks his fingers again and they both twitch, instantly relaxing.

“What are you _doing_?” The outrage in Zachariah’s voice transfer into his hand and another choked noise is forced from Castiel. “This is _my_ moment.”

“And it is finished.” A calm smile spreads on Joshua’s lips as he watches Dean and Sam get to their feet. “Release our dear priest, Zachariah, and listen well. I have a message from our Father.”

He waits a moment, making sure that he has everyone’s attention. “It is God’s will that all angels are to return to heaven.”

“You’re _lying_.”

“Would you like to see what happens if I’m not?” Joshua tilts his head, his smile still as calm as ever – although now Castiel can’t help but feel that it’s challenging; a threat.

It takes a full minute of silence for anything else to happen. Castiel would have liked to have a bit more decorum when he’s finally let go, but the moment Zachariah’s hand is no longer around his throat, he collapses backward. Every inhale is a great, whooshing gasp as he can finally breathe properly. When he looks up, Zachariah is gone and Dean is at his side with an offered hand to help him to his feet.

His voice is nothing more than a croak when he tries to speak. “Balthazar –”

“Bruised, but okay.” Sam announces. “I think he might even be coming to soon.”

“Allow me.” Joshua crosses the room and bends down to tap Balthazar in the center of his forehead. The blood disappears in a blink and he opens his eyes almost immediately. “There. How are you feeling?”

Balthazar looks between Joshua and Sam, face pinched in a frown. “A little too well for being thrown into a bloody wall. I think I’ve missed something.”

Sam gestures at Joshua as he helps Balthazar stand. “This is Joshua – yes, the same one who tends the Garden in heaven.”

“Well, that explains _everything_.”

It’s extremely tiring to have all the panic evaporate so suddenly. Torrential relief makes Castiel feel weak in the knees and he has the overwhelming desire to curl up under the blankets of any bed (preferably with Dean) and sleep for an age. But he can’t do that now. It will be a long time before he can do that.

“Were you lying?”

Joshua turns back to Castiel with a gentle smile and shakes his head. “I’m not. Your success with your mission to seal hell has caused quite the uproar in heaven. The blind are being made to see and they are not happy about being kept in the dark.”

“What does that have to do with all the angels going back to heaven?” Sam asks, ignoring the surprised and confused look Balthazar gives him.

“The civil unrests needs to be dealt with before an all out war takes us over.”

Dean snorts and he squeezes Castiel’s arm where he’s still holding it. “And God is sticking His nose back in heaven’s business _because…_?”

“We failed.” Joshua’s smile slips and he looks away, almost as if he’s ashamed. “God’s absence was a test to see if heaven could continue without His constant attention like the humans have. We’re old enough that we should know the difference between right and wrong. We should have said _‘no’_ to the plans He left for us.”

The noise Dean makes this time is more a mocking laugh than anything else. “You mean _you_ failed. ‘Coz I’m pretty sure Sammy and I passed the test with flying colours.”

“He is impressed, I’ll give you that.” Tipping another smile at them, Joshua’s head bobs in a nod. “And proud. You’ve closed hell and made Earth a better place for it. Because of _you_ , He’s decided it’s time to set heaven right too – which is why all angels need to return now.” The expectant look he gives Sam and Dean makes something tight close around Castiel’s heart as his stomach takes a steep dive.

“We _can’t_ go back.” Dean hisses, not taking his eyes off Joshua as his grip on Castiel gets even tighter. “We’re _Fallen_.”

“You aren’t truly Fallen.” Joshua shakes his head and reaches out to touch Sam’s forehead. “You’re still angels and you’ve learned God’s lessen well. He wants to reward you for it.”

Sam takes a deep breath and rocks back on his heels as the holy light flares briefly in his eyes and under his skin. The change in him is almost instantaneous. How he holds himself changes, shoulders squaring and rolling as if he’s working new muscles. He looks over his shoulder at the air behind him – his wings, Castiel realizes belatedly –  and his lips part in surprise.

Dean flinches from Joshua’s hand, but he doesn’t duck away. He sucks in a heavy breath through his nose as his grace is restored. Castiel can feel it, in a way. A familiar tingling sensation spreads all across his back and shoulders, even over his chest. It’s as if Dean has him completely folded in his wings. The feeling of Dean’s wings had been heavily dulled over the last few months to the point that Castiel couldn’t tell if they were touching him or not unless he was concentrating on _trying_ to feel them.

They bring him no comfort now. Dean has his grace back. He’s a full angel once again and the angels are being called back to heaven. Does that mean Dean and Sam are going to be leaving? For how long? Will they be coming back? The apocalypse was won when they closed hell, but heaven was still after them and their job wasn’t finished yet. With heaven withdrawing its forces and God possibly returning to guide them again, does it mean they’ve won the war?

But Castiel can’t have gone through all of this, including walking through _hell_ , just to lose Dean and Sam now. Not like this. It would have hurt, but he could have moved past their death had it ever come to that. He’s lost more than one friend as a hunter. But to lose them and know they’re someplace where he’ll never be able to see them again? That would be unbearable and it’s no comfort to know that he could continue to pray to either of them.

All those questions are clamoring behind his tongue but Castiel swallows them down. He’s not sure he could bear the answer. Balthazar, apparently, does not share his fears.

“It’s great that you’ve filled their tanks and all for a fun trip home, but are they going to be allowed back?” He shares a quick glance with Castiel. “Some of us have grown rather fond of these two feathered bastards.”

Joshua’s eyes slide to him and Castiel has to look away, unable to see the sadness in his eyes. “Angels didn’t walk on earth for two thousand years before the apocalypse. Nothing less than that will have us leave heaven again. I’m sorry.” He turns away, walking across the room past where Dean stands with Castiel. “You may have your goodbyes, but follow me soon. I don’t want to have to come back down here to get you.”

The rustling flap of his wings leaves nothing but silence in his wake. Castiel can feel the stinging press of tears behind his eyes and he swallows thickly around the tightness in his throat. He can’t cry. He _won’t_. Despite that, a few tears snake down his cheeks when Dean tugs him against his chest and wraps him in a hug of arms and wings.

Castiel fists his hands in the back of Dean’s coat, pressing his face into the curve of his neck. He can barely hear Sam and Balthazar saying goodbyes to each other, likely shaking hands if anything. It will be a miracle if Castiel can manage to do even that. He doesn’t want to let Dean go. Why can’t he stay here? After all they’ve done, hasn’t Dean earned the freedom to make his own choices?

“It’s okay, Cas.” Dean’s whisper is hoarse in his ear. “Don’t worry. I’m coming back. We’ll be coming back.” He pulls back and nudges his nose into Castiel’s temple. “I’m coming back to you and all of heaven won’t be able to stop me.”

Words still feel beyond him. And when words fail, Castiel turns to action. He lifts his head and brings his hands to cradle Dean’s face between their palms. The kisses are rough, desperate, and verging on the edge of pleading. Neither of them knows if they’ll get to have this again. It’s a heavy, cold weight in Castiel’s chest and he knows it’s not going to leave until Dean and Sam come home to him again.

As they pull apart, Castiel is surprised to find tears making paths between the freckles on Dean’s cheeks. He swipes his thumbs under his eyes, wiping them away.

“Don’t get yourself killed.” Castiel doesn’t bother with keeping his voice quiet. The message is for Sam too. “Don’t you _dare_.”

He hugs Sam before they leave in a rustling beat of wings, and the keys to the impala are a heavy weight in Castiel’s hand. It’s only been a few months since Dean stopped being able to fly and it feels sickeningly _final_ to see him and Sam vanish into thin air again. Without them, the room feels bigger than it did before – even with Meg slowly stirring awake again on the bed.

Balthazar waits a few minutes before he puts a gentle hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “What do you want to do now, Cassie?”

If he voiced the first thought in his mind, Castiel is almost certain his brother would try to exorcise him. Drinking until he forgets today would be preferable, but there are things that need to be done and he knows that Dean would frown on his wallowing. This isn’t the end. They promised they’d be back and they’re just going home for a little bit. All Castiel has to do is keep reminding himself of that while ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that keeps trying to tell him that his life isn’t that easy.

He shakes his head and pulls out his cell phone. “Go load our bags in the cars. I’m going to call Chuck.”

Thankfully, Balthazar doesn’t object. He does spare a glance for Meg as she looks around the room in confusion, but he leaves in silence. Castiel keeps his call with Chuck short and sweet. His desire to talk to anyone right now is quickly diminishing and it would be better for everyone if he got on the road as soon as possible. Hopefully travelling back to Illinois in the silence of the Impala will help him organize his thoughts until he can stop feeling like their win was really a loss.

Once Chuck has been informed that he can put the tablets away and take a well deserved break, the only task left to Castiel before they can leave is Meg. Balthazar joins him once the bags are in their cars, standing next to him at the end of the bed as they look at her. She stares back at them, far more composed than she’d been in the presence of the angels.

“So, what now?” Her head tilts to the side as a snide grin tilts her lips. “You gonna kill me, Clarence? I know you’ve been itching to do that forever.”

“No, I’m not.” The answer surprises even him. Ignoring Balthazar’s red-faced silence, Castiel finds the key on the floor where Sam had dropped it and undoes the handcuffs. He passes them off to Balthazar to take apart the chain.

Even Meg seems honestly surprised and she stands up with caution, watching him suspiciously. “Oh?”

“You’re human now. You have a soul and a conscience, and the memories of everything that you’ve done.” Castiel shrugs, turning away and heading for the door with Balthazar close behind. “I can’t think of a worse punishment for a demon. Goodbye, Meg.”

*

The first thing Castiel does when they return to Flanagan is throw himself back into his work. While Balthazar sets about contacting every hunter possible to let them know that demons are no longer an issue, Castiel gets all his credentials covered. The first week home is spent visiting the necessary doctors who confirm that he is perfectly capable of working again.

Once cleared, all of Castiel’s attention is devoted to the construction of the rectory and the final preparations for the Church. With the construction on the Church finished, it’s all set to open once it’s been furnished. It doesn’t take very long to do after Castiel’s _‘leave’_ is over. Aside from monitoring the building of the rectory, there really isn’t much else for him to spend his time on.

Within a week of returning to work, the first mass is held. Castiel had thought – had _hoped_ – that standing behind the pulpit again would be like a breath of fresh air. Returning to his job and having the chance to forget about hunting and the apocalypse for a while was supposed to feel like a new start. It was supposed to make him feel better – supposed to make him _happy_.

It doesn’t.

No matter how hard he tries, Castiel can’t forget everything that happened over the last year. He can’t forget travelling all over the world or all the hunts he and Dean had together. There’s certainly no chance that he’s going to ever forget the dark fires of hell, or the toll the trials had taken on him. And he is never _ever_ going to stop scanning the gathered crowd for two familiar faces that are never there.

The only face he sees is Balthazar’s. For whatever reason, Balthazar has apparently decided to stick around. He’s even splitting the costs of the motel room they’re renting. It’s going to take a whole month before the rectory will be finished and only one room will be furnished without their help. His office is going to be replaced by the Church as it was really the only thing truly destroyed by the fire and it was technically a part of the Church itself before he’d built the first rectory against it.

It was only after much consideration – and supplemental funds from Balthazar – that Castiel decided to spring to build a garage too. Thus far, the Impala has been kept under a tarp in the Church parking lot. With his car and Balthazar’s, that’s three to take up his small driveway and he’d rather have a two car garage instead. The plan is to keep the Impala in there, Castiel’s car on the driveway behind it, and since Balthazar’s car is nicer (though impractical for a hunter) it will share the garage with the Impala.

Whenever he looks at the daily progress of the garage and his home, or checks on the Impala alone in the parking lot, he can’t help but wonder if Dean and Sam will be home again before all the construction is finished.

*

“You don’t have to help me move back in.” It’s likely the fifth time he’s said it today, but Castiel can’t think of anything else to say aside from multiple _‘thank you’_ s.

“I’m here for more than just that, Cassie. Don’t you know? I’m the _moral support_.” Balthazar grins at him over the top of the box in his arms. Moving everything out of storage is going a lot slower now than the last time they did this. “You’re so used to company, how could I just abandon my baby brother like that? I’m not a monster.”

Castiel doesn’t bother to say that he thinks maybe Dean told Balthazar to watch over him before he left. The moment he thinks it, Castiel immediately shoves the thought from his mind. He’s not fast enough and the thought firmly entrenches itself as longing threads through his ribs.

When he’s going about his day, Castiel usually tries very hard not to think about Dean. He only allows himself to think about him when he wakes up from a nightmare and sits awake with Balthazar, praying to Abdiel and often times Deuel regardless of whether or not he’ll get an answer.

Balthazar has already laid claim to one of the bedrooms and Castiel still has no word about when – or _if –_ Dean and Sam will be coming home. He tries to keep positive, but it’s hard. They’ve had so many struggles together over the last year that it’s difficult to believe that after God stopped heaven from hunting them, that He would also allow Dean and Sam to leave heaven.

If he was to pray for that, it would be asking too much, wouldn’t it?

“Are we really bringing your old bed?” Balthazar calls out from the storage garage, pulling Castiel from his thoughts. “Can’t we just trash it? You already have that bigger one.”

“ _You_ still need a bed for your room.” He shouts back from inside the truck, busy with stacking the boxes so they won’t move around while they’re driving. “The old one can be yours.”

The laugh Balthazar makes manages to be both mocking and disgusted. “In your dreams, Cassie. This thing is going in the _other_ room.”

By that he means _Sam’s_ room, but Balthazar has made it a point not to mention Sam or Dean by name in the last month. It must be all part of his _moral support_. As much as Castiel appreciates that he’s trying to look out for his feelings, he misses Balthazar’s candor. Maybe it would be easier not to worry about whether or not Sam and Dean are going to be coming home if Balthazar wasn’t treating him as if he were made of glass.

Granted, Balthazar is justified in his worry. It’s not just the fear that Dean and Sam aren’t coming back that has affected Castiel. Everything is like a physical weight on his shoulders. With his nightmares worse than ever now, old habits have resurfaced. If it weren’t for Balthazar, Castiel might forget to eat more than once a day and there wouldn’t be anyone stopping him from staying up all night.

The tables have turned (again) and it’s like Balthazar is the one taking care of him now. Castiel tries to make the effort so he doesn’t cause too much worry, but his empty bed feels too big and lonely. It’s hard to sleep with that and the potential for another horrible nightmare hanging over his head. And it’s hard to remember to eat when he’s busy trying to get his life back in order before the apocalypse ripped through it like a whirlwind.

“Cassie!”

With a jolt, Castiel realizes that he had stopped working. He looks up to find Balthazar standing on the ramp leading up into the truck. “What?”

“All we’ve got left is the mattress for that bloody bed of yours.” Balthazar jerks his thumb over his shoulder as he turns away. “If you hurry your ass up, we might be able to get all this shit inside the house and return the truck before the day is done.”

Picking his way out of the trailer, Castiel follows to help him. “I’m surprised you’re so willing to help. This _is_ physical labour, you know.”

“Are you kidding?” A wide grin splits Balthazar’s face as he picks up one end of the mattress, waiting until Castiel does the same before he starts shuffling backwards. “I’m in my prime, Cassie. And aside from being a hunter, I’ll have you know that the sooner we get you all set up, the sooner I can decorate my bedroom to my fine tastes.”

This will be the first time in over a decade that Balthazar will have a room of his own. It’s no secret that he’s excited about it. He’s spent the last few weeks with his nose in a hundred different catalogues picking out all the things he wants for his new room. Which is why, when the next day comes and it’s time to actually _unpack_ , Castiel hands Balthazar his wallet and shoos him out the front door.

“Go do your shopping. We got the furniture placed last night and I can handle the rest on my own.”

Balthazar gives him a flat, skeptical look. “You _sure_ you’ll be fine?”

“Of course.” He nods and nearly pushes him out the door.

At least Balthazar leaves without further comment and a nearly manic look in his eyes. Castiel is almost afraid of what he’s going to bring back to make his room feel like _his_. But this is something Balthazar hasn’t had for most of his life. In the orphanage they shared a room with the other boys, and he never said where he lived after he ran away, but Castiel doubts he had the luxury of his own place.

After watching Balthazar drive away from the front step, Castiel shuts the door. He passes the living room on his right, with the old reading chair and bookcase that used to be in his bedroom temporarily assigned to that room until he purchases appropriate furniture.

There hadn’t been much problem with setting those out. But there had been an almost painful tightening in his chest when he and Balthazar had put Sam’s bookcase and the bed in what will be his room. It had only gotten worse, to the point where they had to stop for him to breathe, when they put Dean’s bookcase (his small TV and DVD player included) and the dresser in Castiel’s bedroom.

With that in mind, it’s completely understandable that Balthazar would be hesitant to leave him to unpack on his own to.

Castiel bypasses the door to his office too. It’s opposite the entrance to the living room off the front hall and the door is locked. He only goes in there when he has to work or if the doorbell rings for the separate entrance next to the front door. He passes the bathroom next to the office and the hall along the side of the stairs that leads to the basement door. His goal is the kitchen.

They don’t have a table yet. That will be delivered later today. Which means he needs to make room for it by unpacking all the boxes of dishes and what little food they have. Before he starts, Castiel sends a quick text to Balthazar, reminding him to pick up some groceries on the way home.

First he puts away what little food they have. With a floor to ceiling pantry in the corner against the far wall, he now has plenty of space to keep everything. It was designed and built with the understanding that he was going to have four mouths to feed. That might be different now, but it doesn’t mean he shouldn’t take advantage of the extra space.

Next comes the dishes and all his cooking utensils. Those get put away easily enough – until he comes across _their_ mugs - Sam and Dean’s mugs. Castiel’s hands start shaking hard enough that he doesn’t trust himself to pick them up. At first he’s drowned by a wave of sadness and longing. He misses them both dearly and maybe this would easier if they could at least _talk_ to him – but the radio silence is deafening and even with Balthazar he feels alone.

He’s halfway through violently shoving all the rags and towels into a drawer in an attempt to forget the mugs when he finds the apron. One corner of it is burned and it could use a thorough washing. A lump forms in his throat again, but this time it brings rage with it. He crumples the apron in his hands and nearly pitches it across the room, stopping with his arm drawn back.

The memory of the last time he threw something in anger comes back in a rush. Castiel had promised himself he wouldn’t have another outburst like that again, even if there’s no one here but him to be hurt by it. He lowers his arm slowly and let’s the apron slowly unravel from his fingers back into the box.

It’s a strategic decision to walk away, abandoning the kitchen all together. Maybe Balthazar can finish it later. The lump in his throat is making it hard to breathe and Castiel tries to escape it by barricading himself in his office.

There’s nothing in here to remind him of Dean or Sam. With all the things he has to organize and find places for, he should be plenty occupied until Balthazar comes back. Too bad that they don’t have their wifi yet. He wouldn’t mind losing himself in endless web pages and news articles, or maybe even putting together a binder of potential hunts to give to Balthazar to get him _doing_ things again - not that he hasn’t earned himself a vacation for however long he wants it.

Castiel busies himself with finding places for all the binders and booklets the Church replaced, organizing them as he sees fit. It keeps his attention well enough that he nearly misses Balthazar’s text message.

                _I’m buying living room furniture and you can’t stop me._

He frowns and types out an answer. _Excuse me?_

_Are you worried yet? You should be._

_Don’t you dare buy anything for the common areas of the house without my approval first._

_Aw Cassie. You wound me. Don’t you trust me?_

_Not in the slightest. Just get YOUR bedroom furniture. You can’t afford anything more._

_Joke’s on you. I got a new credit card yesterday._

Groaning, Castiel puts the phone aside. He’s all but forgotten the conversation by the time Balthazar gets home. He looks up at the bang of the door and it’s only a moment before Balthazar is sweeping past the office, almost walking completely by before he stops and takes a step back.

“Are you in here because you finished everything else already?”

“No.” Castiel turns back to the binder full of the accounting. He’s got months of missed data to go over. “Can you finish the kitchen, please?”

Balthazar’s amused grin quickly drops into a concerned frown. “Well, fuck me. What was it? What did you find?”

“Mugs. Apron.” He shrugs and flips a page. “I almost have the office done, but I’d prefer if you finished the kitchen. Did you pick up the groceries?”

“In the car.” Sighing, Balthazar steps back from the door. “I was hoping I could convince you to help me carry them in.” He pauses and rubs a hand through his hair. “Don’t worry about it, you do your paperwork thing. I’ll be back in a tick. Oh, and the furniture is being delivered tomorrow. Bedroom _and_ living room.”

For that, Castiel doesn’t even bother pretending to get up and help. He doesn’t really believe that Balthazar bought what he told him not to. Maybe his teasing is just a way to try and pick Castiel’s spirits up after finding the things in the kitchen. It does give him a small smile and Castiel manages to bring himself to help Balthazar once the mugs and the apron are dealt with. He doesn’t know what happened to them, but they’re not in the cupboard when he makes himself a coffee later that evening.

Coffee is exactly what he needs to stay up late and unpack his bedroom. Balthazar has been proactive, it seems. None of the boxes that had been marked _Dean’s Clothes_ or _Sam’s Clothes_ were sorted into his room. They’re probably stored in Sam’s. It seems like the logical place to put everything that might upset him.

Seeing their things shouldn’t make him feel sad and sick. But he can’t stand looking at their mugs, their shirts, or Sam’s laptop (still in his duffle bag in a corner of his unused bedroom), or the apron Dean picked out specifically for him. All their things, packed up in boxes and bags, gives him the sense that they’re not coming home. And it feels wrong putting them away _for_ them.

What if he puts Dean’s clothes in the drawer and they just sit there for the rest of his life? Every day that he opens that drawer, it would be like another needle in his heart. He’d rather just leave them in the boxes where he can’t see them. That way, if he tries hard enough, he might be able to forget that they’re there..

Which is why, when he reaches into the bottom of the garbage bag his clothing had been hastily dumped into during the move, he isn’t prepared to pull out the hideous sweater Balthazar got Dean for Christmas. Castiel spends several minutes sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the ridiculously pixilated squirrel. He traces its edge with the tip of a finger, trying to remember if Dean ever actually wore it. The small laugh that bubbles up in Castiel’s throat sounds more like a sob when he remembers threatening to burn it if Dean ever put it on.

He swaps his coffee for the whiskey Balthazar had tried to hide at the bottom of the pantry behind two boxes of Mini-Wheats. It doesn’t take long for it to hinder his ability to fold and put away clothing. As good a tolerance as he has, it’s no good at keep him awake after downing most of a bottle of whiskey in an hour. It doesn’t help matters when he lays down, hugging the stupid sweater to his chest.

Balthazar is there when Castiel wakes up screaming later that night.

*

The furniture that Balthazar picked actually works well with the living room. Apparently he knows Castiel’s tastes better than Castiel thought he did. Despite that, the basement is Castiel’s favourite part about the new house. It’s a wide, open room with a closet that runs under the stairs where the boiler and everything important is kept. The rest is Castiel’s work space. When he’s not in the office, he’s down here learning how to build new things.

It’s been a month since he moved everything that had been in the shed down here and thus far he’s built a few bird houses. One for the backyard and the rest he’s donated to the Church to include in fundraisers he’s planning to hold around Thanksgiving. There’s a binder sitting on the shelf above his head full of designs for furniture he could build for Sam’s room, but he can’t bring himself to start building any of it without Sam’s approval.

With some effort, he and Balthazar had knocked a hole in one of the walls where the night construction crew had left a doorway. Castiel covered the hole with particle board and all his tools are hanging on it. One tug with the right hook pulls the whole thing away from the wall, revealing the entrance into the secret room full of all their hunting gear.

Sometimes, Castiel misses hunting. But he never misses it enough to want to grab the duffle bag he always keeps prepared in the bottom of his closet and take a week to go with Balthazar. After they moved in, it had taken Balthazar nearly two months to start hunting again. He wouldn’t go until he was sure that Castiel was alright and it had taken quite a lot on Castiel’s part to convince him that he was.

Of course that doesn’t mean that Balthazar doesn’t text him at least once a day to find out what he’s doing and how he’s feeling. Honestly, it’s like Castiel can’t be upset that two of his best friends (one of which was so much more than that) are just _gone_. Everything happened so fast and ended so suddenly. No matter how hard Castiel tries to get used to it, he can’t. He’s struggling with not knowing what happened to Dean and Sam, and how things are going with heaven. Even praying to Charlie hasn’t gotten him an answer.

That’s what makes the waiting hard. Not knowing their fate might put Castiel in his grave. Balthazar’s assured him that it’s not possible to worry yourself to death, but Castiel thinks otherwise. He can barely sleep, and when he does he usually has a nightmare, and his appetite is next to nothing. Since they’ve returned home, he’s lost some weight. Granted, their life of having almost all their meals on the road while they were travelling for those few months had actually had him _gaining_ some.

There are always too many thoughts in his head. The only time it gets quiet is when his hands are smoothing and shaping wood. Sometimes squeezing the cross of the rosary Dean made him helps clear his head, but that’s only for a few minutes. Wood crafting lasts longer.

He’s hunched over his work table, carefully drawing the shape of the next piece of the bird house – more elaborate than the last – onto a sheet of wood, when the doorbell rings. It’s the two tone chime that belongs to the main entrance. The office entrance sounds more like a buzzer and he mentally flinches whenever it goes off. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s annoying. He doesn’t usually get many visitors to the main address, but Balthazar has taken to the habit of ordering food to be delivered while he’s out hunting so Castiel won’t skip a meal.

When he opens the door with his wallet in hand, Castiel is expecting a delivery boy. He isn’t expecting a familiar face covered with a week’s worth of scruff and wearing a glowing pendant over a rumpled shirt.

“Hey, Cas.”

Castiel is fairly certain his heart skips a beat or two, possibly even three. It’s a stroke of luck that he doesn’t drop the wallet and instead slowly puts it down on the little table next to the door. His other hand is squeezing the door handle hard enough to leave bruises on his palm.

“Did’ja miss me?” The smile that accompanies those words is small, lopsided, sheepish and so, _so_ familiar it hurts. “I like the new house. It’s looking nice.”

There’s a lump in his throat. It’s hard to speak and only one word manages to croak past it. “ _Dean_.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Dean’s smile grows wider. He runs a hand through his hair and glances down at his feet. “I was gonna call sooner, let you know I touched down, but the battery in my phone was dead and I only had enough cash on me to get a bus to Flanagan. It’s a hell of a walk from there to here, y’know?”

He took a bus and he walked. Dean _walked_ and rode on a _bus_. Two plus two means Dean can’t fly. Why can’t he fly? Why did he come to Earth somewhere else? How did he – Where was he – Why is he – Too many questions and they all get drowned out by one thought. Dean’s _home_.

Castiel reaches for him, wanting to make sure that Dean is really there - really _here_. Dean catches his hand before he can touch him. His palm is warm and solid and _real_ against Castiel’s skin as Dean flips his hand over until his palm is facing up. Castiel realizes he’s holding his breath as Dean takes his necklace off. He lets it out in a shaky gasp when the pendant touches his palm and a flash of _heat_ races up his arm to settle warm and pulsing behind his sternum – right where Dean had left his mark on his soul.

“That’s my grace in there.” The whisper sends goosebumps across Castiel’s skin as Dean guides his hand to close around the pendant. “Technically speaking, I’m not suppose to have it since I cut it out. But I don’t trust anyone else to look after this more than you.”

Castiel lifts his eyes from his fist to Dean’s face. His smile now is warm and hopeful. Dean’s shoulders twitch in a shrug when he makes a simple, yet profound, statement. “I’m human.”

No wings. No grace. No invulnerable immortality. Just Dean. Just _his_ Dean who finally came _home_. Castiel throws the door the rest of the way open, stepping out onto the small front porch to drag Dean into a hard hug. He buries his face against Dean’s neck and can’t help the small, overjoyed sob he gasps against his skin. Dean smells like dirt and sweat and _humanity_. There’s a trace of storms on his skin and maybe that will never go away, but Castiel breathes him in and grounds himself in the feel of strong arms around his back, holding him just as tightly.

He doesn’t care that they’re out on the porch and anyone will be able to see them. It’s been _months_ of not knowing, of wanting and waiting and praying. He’s too happy to care that Dean is unshaven, unshowered, and his teeth haven’t been brushed in God knows how long. Castiel kisses Dean right then and there, kisses him until he can’t breathe and even then he barely stops to gasp a breath.

Dean’s fingers dig into his hips and he crowds him backwards. He doesn’t once try to stop the kiss. Enthusiastic participating is the complete opposite of stopping, in fact. But he does slowly and carefully edge Castiel back into the house. The moment the door is shut, Castiel pushes Dean against it. He fumbles to put the necklace in his pocket, freeing up his hands to sweep over Dean’s shoulders and arms, his sides and chest and waist and hips. Everywhere he can touch, he does, and Dean is very much _there_ and _real_ and this doesn’t feel like a dream or a delusion or a particularly vivid daydream.

This is real and Dean is _home_.

“Yes.” Castiel whispers against Dean’s lips, still leaning his weight into him and pinning him to the door.

“‘Yes’, what?”

An honest, genuinely happy smile breaks their kiss altogether and Castiel leans back to see its mirror spreading across Dean’s mouth too. “Yes, I missed you. And Sam too.” The realization hits him suddenly and Castiel takes a step back. “Wait. Where’s Sam?”

Dean’s smile drops and he looks away, shuffling on his feet. “He’s – Sam’s still making up his mind. Joshua said God was giving us a choice; forever in heaven, or a human life on Earth.” He shrugs again and looks up at Cas. “I chose you.”

It feels like forever since Castiel has smiled properly. Dean hasn’t even been back for five whole minutes and already he’s smiled more than he has all week. He leans into Dean for one more hug before he steps back, his hand slipping down Dean’s arm to find his fingers. Without missing a beat, Dean laces his fingers between Castiel’s and his thumb strokes against the back of his hand.

“Before we talk about everything that went down in heaven, because I know you’re _dying_ to hear that, can I use the bathroom?”

The question feels oddly absurd and a short chuckle bubbles out of Castiel. He nods and gives Dean a brief tour of the house. Rather than show him into the main floor bathroom (which doubles as the laundry room), Castiel takes him upstairs.

At the top of the stairs there’s a landing with a large window overlooking the Church. Castiel relocated the reading chair to the corner made by the wall and the railing by the stairs. Sometimes it’s where he sits and reads when Balthazar is watching TV in the living room and he doesn’t want to be alone in his bedroom. Other times it’s just a quiet place to get some sunlight.

Sam’s bedroom is off the landing. Between his bedroom and Castiel’s is the linen closet and from there he takes a towel and hands it over to Dean. He opens the bathroom door, across from the closet, and points at the tub. “Take a shower too.”

Dean frowns and lifts one of his arms to sniff under it. “Do I smell _that_ bad?”

“No, but you’ll feel better.” Castiel smiles again and gives him a gentle shove into the small bathroom. “And it’ll give me time to find the boxes of your clothes. You can put those all away later.”

“I’m home five minutes and you’re already giving me chores to do?” He sighs and rolls his eyes, but there’s a fond smile on his lips. “Y’know… You could always take a shower _with_ me. I miss having those.”

A blush burns its way onto Castiel’s cheeks and he turns away to go to Sam’s room. “We can save that for another time. There’s too much to talk about first.”

They didn’t shower together much while they were overseas, but Castiel has thought about those moments during the last few months. He misses them too; the slick slide of soapy skin and languid kisses under the shower head with the heat of another naked body against his own. Thinking about it just inflates the temptation to join Dean and Castiel has to force himself to walk away.

By the time Dean steps out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam with a relaxed, loose smile on his face, all the boxes marked with his name are now on Castiel’s bed. He’s sitting next to them, turning the pendant holding Dean’s grace over and over in his hands. Every time his fingers touch the smooth glass tube, heat flares under his skin. When he puts it on and wears it under his shirt, the heat spreads out across his chest. It’s muted and not nearly as powerful as it used to be when he touched the mark on Dean’s shoulder, but it’s a nice feeling.

“You sticking around to watch me change?” Dean asks while he upends the boxes across the bed and paws through the mess of clothes.

“A tempting offer, but no. I’m going to go make some coffee.” Castiel stands up and ignores the way the towel keeps sliding lower down Dean’s hips. There’s a time for paying attention to that and now is not it. “If you’d like, there are spare razors and toothbrushes under the sink that you can use. Or your old ones are still in your duffle bag.”

“You didn’t put any of our stuff away, huh?”

He shakes his head as he heads for the door, glancing back with a small smile. “I wanted to leave that for the both of you to decide. It’s your stuff – you should get to pick where it goes.”

Despite his suspicious squint, Dean nods. “Alright. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Castiel shuts the door after him and pokes around in Sam’s room until he finds the only box labeled _kitchen_ in there. Balthazar thought he was being clever hiding them in here, but Castiel knows it’s the only place in the house that he could have put them where he wouldn’t accidentally stumble across them. The second most logical place would have been Balthazar’s bedroom, but Castiel is in and out of there every laundry day.

When Dean comes downstairs, Castiel is waiting for him at the kitchen table with two mugs of coffee and some sandwiches. Dean polishes off one of them and half his coffee before he launches into his story while eating the second.

“Every damn demon on Earth was sucked back into hell the moment you finished the trial and every angel up in heaven noticed because that shit reverberated across _every_ plane of existence. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the leviathan in purgatory picked up on it too.” He keeps gesturing with his free hand as he talks. “And that kicked up a hell of a lot of confusion.”

“Because not every angel knew about the pending apocalypse, right?”

Dean nods enthusiastically and swallows a mouthful of sandwich. “Most of heaven didn’t know. It was only the upper echelon and whoever they hand picked to carry out their stupid tasks. And those that knew were freaking the fuck out, Cas. They were screaming about storming Earth and coming after us and everyone who didn’t know about the apocalypse was trying to figure out why everyone wasn’t just celebrating, y’know?”

Castiel nods and smiles around the edge of his mug. “It does seem like something you would celebrate.”

“Exactly! Before Zachariah even got off his ass to come after us, word started getting around that angels had been working with demons to bring on the apocalypse. I’m ninety-nine percent positive that Charlie started the rumours. And you know what?” He leans in as if the following is some kind of secret. “Turns out most angels didn’t want the apocalypse. They _like_ how things were between heaven, hell and here.”

“Didn’t Joshua mention a civil war was brewing?”

After polishing off the last of the sandwich and downing his coffee, Dean wipes his mouth and nods. “It was already underway by the time we got back. That’s why Joshua was calling all the angels home. We had to deal with all that bullshit and everyone was super surprised to see Sam and me back and fully charged up.”

“How did the archangels take to that?” Castiel asks, getting up to refill their mugs. “If I recall, Michael wasn’t pleased that we stopped the apocalypse.”

“Understatement.” He dips his head in thanks as Castiel pours him another cup. “He and Raphael threw a temper tantrum the moment we got back and I actually thought we were going to have to face off against them – then Joshua pulled out the God card and they basically _had_ to sit their asses down and shut the hell up because - get this, God’s ‘plan’? According to Him, we’re all supposed to just _forget_ it.”

“Then what are the angels supposed to do?”

Dean shrugs and leans back in his chair, twisting his mug between his hands. “Guard purgatory, watch over the human souls and humanity like we were originally told to do, and they’re going to keep watching the borders of hell just in case something happens.”

“And the civil war? Were many hurt?”

“Nah. They weren’t trying to kill each other, just trying to get the opposing sides under control.” He scrubs a hand through his hair and tilts his head back to look at the ceiling. “They were still kind of at each other’s throats and everything, but God must think they’re going to be alright if He didn’t need me and Sam there anymore to help back Joshua up on how we did everything we did. We’re legends up there, now. Top of the Christmas tree. Best of the best.”

He tilts his head at Castiel with a wide smile. “That’s why we were given the choice. Most angels aren’t really ready for free will yet, but me and Sam? We did good. The choice was our reward.”

“How nice of Him.” Castiel turns his hand over when Dean reaches for it, squeezing back and returning the smile. “Now what do you plan to do with your newfound humanity?”

“Well, first I’m going to put away those clothes so you don’t end up nagging me for it. Then I’m going to go see my baby before I explore the house.” Dean pushes his chair away from the table and stands. “Chances are, you’re going to call Balthazar and tell him to get back here as soon as possible so we can all celebrate with some big meal that you’re going to cook. How does that sound?”

As he stands too, Castiel can’t help but smile. “That sounds eerily accurate.”

He _had_ been planning on calling Balthazar. It will take him at least a day to get back and Castiel is looking forward to getting to spend some time with Dean before he gets here. They could spend the evening sitting on the couch holding hands or each other and watch a TV show or nothing at all. Castiel is still trying to adjust to the thought that they could do that every night. Every day. Every week, month, and year left of their lives. This is something they can _do_ now.

Dean laughs and Castiel follows him back upstairs. He paces one side of the bedroom with his cell phone while Dean pokes around in the closet to find where he’s going to hang whatever he doesn’t put in the dresser. The line picks up just before the voicemail does. Balthazar must have been busy.

“Cassie? What’s wrong?”

“Why do you assume something is wrong?”

Balthazar huffs and there’s the slam of a car door in the background. “You don’t call me anymore. _I_ call _you_. Something happened. What happened?”

“I’ll tell you what happened when you get back. Now. As soon as physically possible.” Castiel could easily tell him that Dean is here, but this feels like it needs a flair of the dramatic. Dean seems to like it, judging by the wide grin and double thumbs up he gets for it.

“I’m in the middle of a hunt, Cassie. I’ve got a vamp to behead tonight.” There’s another huff and an annoyed grumble. “At least tell me if I should drop it all this minute and come right home.”

Castiel stops at the window and looks out over the road, contemplating his answer for a moment. It’s not a hard one to make.. “Be home as soon as you’re able, but get rid of the vampire first.”

“So it’s not a life or death situation then?”

“It’s not.”

“You think you’re being secretive, but you’re really not.” Balthazar snorts a laugh. “You’re not the only clever one here, little brother. I’ll call from the driveway before I come in. _Just in case_ , you know.”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel hangs up without further preamble. There’s really only one thing that he would call Balthazar home for that wasn’t a threat to his life. He tosses his phone on the bed and drags a box of hangers out of the bottom of the closet. “We can hang everything but your pajamas and sweat pants.”

“I’m going to need more clothes now, aren’t I?”

“If you want. You’ll have to get a job and everything too.” He shrugs and starts putting Dean’s shirts on the hangers. “You won’t be living here for free.”

Dean’s nose crinkles and he steps up behind Castiel, his hands slow as they slide around his waist. “Aren’t there other ways I could pay for room and board?”

“If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting – do you really think that’s something I would accept?” He covers Dean’s hands with his own and looks over his shoulder at the teasing grin on Dean’s lips. “We can figure out what you’ll do later. One step at a time.”

*

Falling asleep with Dean curled against his back is both wonderful and extremely comforting. Kissing him under the blankets again makes it feels like no time has passed at all, but the glow of Dean’s grace lights the room from their bedside table, proving that time has most definitely marched on. This is different and this is perfect. Dean is back and that’s all Castiel needs to fall asleep easier than he has in months.

But it doesn’t stop him from waking up with a cry halfway through the night.

Dean doesn’t ask questions or say anything. All he does is turn on the light to chase away the shadows. He wraps Castiel in a tight hug and holds him until the shaking stops. Then and only then does he stroke a hand through Castiel’s hair and lean him back enough to see his face. There’s a concerned frown on his lips and Castiel shakes his head before the question can be asked.

“I’m fine.” He attempts a tired smile and leans into Dean’s side, letting the gentle slide of Dean’s fingers calm him. “They got worse after hell and I think I’m going to have them for the rest of my life.”

“Why don’t you give this a try?” Dean leans across him and scoops the pendant from the bedside table. “Wear it while you’re sleeping. Just keeping my grace close might help keep the nightmares away.”

Castiel ducks his head to let Dean slip the necklace around his neck. He twists the pendant between his fingers a few times before tucking it under his shirt. Immediately the same familiar heat leaks through the glass and it brings him comfort. Enough that his smile doesn’t feel so tired any more.

“Thank you, Dean.” He lays back again and Dean props himself up on his elbow next to him, a concerned frown still pinching his eyebrows together. “Don’t worry. Even if it doesn’t work, I don’t think I mind having nightmares anymore..”

“I call bullshit.” Dean rolls his eyes again. “How could you stand it?”

A teasing smile starts pushing it’s way onto Castiel’s face and he fights against it. “They’ll be tolerable as long as I continue waking up next to you.”

In an instant, Dean’s whole face goes scarlet with a blush. His mouth works soundlessly for a few moments before he drops onto his stomach to bury his face in his pillow. “You can’t just _say_ stuff like that, Cas! Oh my _Dad_.”

Grinning, Castiel rolls onto his side and props himself up on his elbow. “All our days, Dean. Waking up next to you. That’s worth all the nightmares.”

Dean pulls the pillow over his head and hunches his shoulders against the words. “Cut it out!”

There aren’t many things he can use to tease Dean. Speaking heartfelt, overly sappy words is one of the very few that Castiel doesn’t have any problem doing. He leans in closer, whispering under the edge of the pillow. “Having this is worth everything. Hell, the trials, _everything_. Do you know why, Dean?”

A loud whine is muffled under the pillow. “Shut _u-u-up_.”

Castiel lays his hand between Dean’s shoulder blades and leans against his side. “It’s worth it because I love you, Dean.”

In a flurry of pillows and blankets, Castiel finds himself on his back with the pillow over his face. It smothers his laugh for the minute Dean leaves it there. When he lifts it up again, Dean’s cheeks are still very red in the dim bedside light. “Are you done with the sappy shit?”

He shakes his head and Dean tosses the pillow aside. “Well, now you’re gonna get it.”

“Oh? You’ve found a better way to make me stop? But Dean, I’ll never be able to stop lov–” Castiel cuts off with a muffled oomph when Dean hits him with the pillow once more. The second smack muffles his laughter, and the third never comes as Dean kisses him instead. He draws back with a raised eyebrow and Castiel reaches up to slide his fingers into the short hairs on the back of his head. “I’ll admit, this is much more preferable to the pillow.”

Dean hums a pleased little noise and lets Castiel pull him back down into another kiss. They’re the best and easiest way to forget the nightmares. He knows it, Dean knows it, and it’s one of the better discoveries they made during their time abroad. Castiel tugs the blanket up higher over Dean’s shoulders and they slide a little lower down the bed, abandoning the pillows completely.

All of this – everything about it – Castiel missed it. He lived most of his life not knowing these kinds of intimate touches and he got so addicted to it. Not having Dean here with him for the last few months and the pending worry that he might never see him again – or get to have this again – It scared him. He could live without kissing and touching Dean, but never seeing him again? That would have been torture. This – this is an entirely different kind of torture.

Castiel can’t touch enough; can’t taste enough; can’t feel enough of him all at once. Even after dragging Dean’s shirt over his head and tossing it away to be joined shortly after by Castiel’s shirt doesn’t get him close enough. The pendant is a hard point against his skin when Dean lies over him, teeth and lips doing wonders against Castiel’s throat as he licks and sucks too lightly to leave any marks. Dean knows better than to leave anything above the collar where the congregation would be able to see them.

When a hand slides over his hip, fingers catching in the band of his pajama pants, Castiel’s head tilts back and he lifts his hips from the bed without thinking. It’s an uncoordinated mess of kicking feet and blankets while trying to get both his pants _and_ Dean’s off. The first gentle press of a palm over his erection earns Dean a keening whine.

This is an unexpected, though welcome, turn of events. They’ve never gone this far after a nightmare, but they’ve also never been apart for so long prior to that. It can’t hurt to want this one thing now, can it? There are no voices in his head telling him this is wrong. There’s no tight tension in his chest making him feel nervous or worried or unsure about whether or not they should be doing this. Right now, it feels right to spread his hands in the small of Dean’s back and rock their hips together.

His heart does stutter in his chest when Dean shudders above him and his breath washes warm over his ear. “Cas – can we – please? _Please_?”

The answer is a resounding _yes_ through his head, but he’s not sure if they have the necessary items. A quick search of Balthazar’s bedside tables would probably turn up at least a pack of condoms. But lube, on the other hand, might trip them up.

“Do we have –?”

“My duffle bag.” Dean kisses him soundly before scrambling from the bed, nearly tripping over their discarded clothing. “I got some before. When I thought – maybe we might –” He shrugs and drags his emptied bag down from the top of the closet to riffle through one of the side pockets. When he returns to the bed it’s with condoms and a tube in hand. “Always be prepared. Right, Cas?”

It’s now that his nerves decide to unleash like a cloud of butterflies through his chest and stomach. They haven’t talked about who would do what when – or if – this time ever came. Castiel himself doesn’t know what he would prefer. He had once used Balthazar’s laptop to read up on homosexual sex and both possible parts - and the wide variety of positions - were appealing to him.

Dean crawls back onto the bed and throws a leg over Castiel’s thighs, straddling them smoothly. A warm palm slides up Castiel’s chest to cup the curve of his neck as Dean leans down to kiss him again. “You sure about this, Cas? We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I want this.” He rubs his hands over Dean’s thighs and hips. “I just don’t know how we’re –”

“It’s gonna be your first, Cas. You pick.” Dean rolls his hips slightly, rocking their erections together as he presses kisses all along Castiel’s jaw. “But if it’ll help you make up your mind, I _really_ won’t mind if you fuck me for your first time.”

A thrilling tingle spreads from Castiel’s crown to his toes and he shivers, gasping into the next kiss. If that’s what Dean wants, he’s more than willing to give it a try. Castiel’s hands only tremble a little when Dean squeezes the lube into his palm. It’s cold and slick and feels weird as it slides between his fingers, but his focus on that is completely lost when Dean shuffles forward to straddle his stomach and guide his hands behind him.

The small sound Dean makes when the first finger slips inside is all the fuel Castiel needs. He follows Dean’s gentle instructions and memorizes every twitch of his face and the way that he trembles as he rolls his hips down onto Castiel’s fingers. When Dean finally pushes his hands away, Castiel's heart feels strangely calm. He had thought it would be pounding hard, fit to burst inside his chest, but right now it's no different than to be expected as Dean urges him to sit up with his back against the headboard for him to kneel in his lap.

Dean sits back on Castiel’s knees and hands him the condom. He strokes himself, watching while Castiel fumbles with opening the packet and the unfamiliar motions of rolling a condom over his erection. With another handful of lube, Dean strokes Castiel with a loose grip meant more to spread the lube than pleasure him. Castiel doesn't know where to rest his hands. His palms keep sliding from Dean's thighs to his sides, resting on his wrists and always – always – reaching for the mark on his shoulder even though he knows they won’t be able to feel anything through it anymore – not with his grace hanging around Castiel’s neck.

He’s going to miss the feeling of Dean’s grace sliding against his soul when they’re intimate, but he has Dean back now. He has him here for the rest of their lives and it’s a steep sacrifice, but Castiel won’t lose sleep over it. Not when he’s biting his bottom lip, breath catching in his chest as Dean shuffles forward until his erection brushes Castiel's stomach.

Dean leans forward to kiss him softly while he reaches behind himself to spread the lube there too one more time. “You sure you want this, Cas? You sure you’re ready for it?”

Castiel squeezes Dean's thighs and closes his eyes, nodding as he turns his mind to anything he can think of that he finds to be a mood killer. He’s ready, even if he hadn’t let himself think about this particular aspect of their relationship while Dean was gone. Right now, his faith, his nightmares, _everything_ is so far away. Castiel’s only worry at the moment is that he might come too early.

His breath escapes on a gasp with Dean's name on his lips when he leans back. Warm, slippery fingers slide over Castiel’s erection, holding it steady as Dean guides it until there's a tight pressure against the head. He sucks in a sharp breath as Dean rolls his hips slightly, taking him in.

"You okay, Cas?" Dean whispers, his hands moving to Castiel's shoulders. One of them cups the side of his neck and his thumb rubs gentle arcs over his skin.

"Yes, I'm -" He takes another breath and brings a hand to cover his eyes.

Castiel needs to focus on his breathing. If he doesn't do that, he's very worried that he might forget to do it entirely and actually _die_ from this. Dean is much tighter around his penis then he was around his fingers, and it's _entirely_ different from what few times Dean’s used his mouth. This is heat and pressure and Dean leans into him, his knees tightening around Castiel's hips.

In hindsight, he really should have been watching. Without warning, Dean sinks down _all_ the way, taking Castiel in almost completely. It's like a violent shock to his system and if Dean wasn't sitting on him, he would almost certainly have started moving before Dean was adjusted or ready for it. This sensation – this pressure all around him and the _heat_ – this would be enough to drive Castiel mad. It certainly is enough for him to throw his head back, a blasphemy on his lips.

"Oh my G-!" Before Castiel can take the Lord's name in vain, there's a hand on his cheek and a thumb between his teeth, pressing down on his tongue. He opens his eyes and closes his lips around Dean's thumb, still slick with the tasteless lube.

“Don’t –” Dean murmurs, his words breaking when Castiel sucks lightly. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before continuing. “Don’t you go saying Dear _God_. You should be screaming _my_ name instead of my Father’s.”

He rubs his thumb over Castiel’s bottom lip in a tender gesture, their foreheads bumping together as his hand drops. “Capiche?”

Castiel barely manages to nod before Dean is kissing him again, pushing his hands into his hair. He starts to move his hips in a gentle rocking motion. Their kisses break again, and Castiel breathes Dean’s name. It falls repeatedly from his lip as Dean keeps moving in a repetitive, hypnotic movement. One of Dean’s arms circles around his shoulders and Castiel presses his face into the curve of it. He brings a hand up to squeeze Dean’s arm as the mantra of his name accompanies the quiet squeak of the bedsprings.

Dean’s voice is a ragged gasp in Castiel’s ear. He hugs him closer, moving faster, dropping his hips harder. Castiel tries to focus to do more than sit here and let Dean do all the work, but he’s caught in the slide of skin and the quiet, whimpered noises muffled in the back of Dean’s throat. His hands frame Dean’s hips, fingers digging in to try and hold on. He forces himself to move, lifting his head to press kisses to Dean’s neck, pulling a pleased moan from him.

Before he knows it, Dean is on his back and his heels are digging into the back of Castiel’s thighs. His feet slip on the sheets, trying to get traction with his toes for the leverage needed to push in harder and faster. Every snap of his hips draws the _best_ sounds out of Dean and Castiel is striving for them now – for every punched out moan and shivering gasp. It makes Dean scrabble at his back and arch his head into the pillows, baring his neck for a rain of kisses.

Even with one hand between them, stroking Dean in short, quick jerks, Castiel still comes before him. It starts as a fire in his belly, burning through his veins as if every muscle in his body was pulling tight. His hips stutter to stillness and he struggles to breathe against Dean’s shoulder. Dean holds him close after he sags against him, a hand smoothing through his hair and down his back in a slow caress. He whispers praise and calming sounds into his ears until Castiel can finally move again.

Kissing Dean still feels new every time he does it. Castiel kisses him hard. He doesn’t know what else to do for Dean besides continuing to stroke him. It doesn’t take long. Dean curves against him, choking out Castiel’s name as he drags him down into a crushing hug. Reluctantly, Castiel slides to the side. He’s not touching Dean any less, but the heat is starting to leach out of his bones and he presses closer, burrowing his face into the crook of Dean’s shoulder.

“That - that was _awesome_.” Dean let’s out on a sigh and a small chuckle that shakes under Castiel’s arm. “You’re gonna wanna take off that condom soon.”

Condoms. Castiel knows they’re important to keep things safe, but he thinks he’s going to hate them if he and Dean are going to keep doing this. They’re so unsexy. He grumbles quietly under his breath as he turns onto his hip and fumbles to remove it. Dean instructs him to tie it off and Castiel rolls over to the edge of the bed to make a clumsy throw into the waste basket.

Immediately he’s drawn back against a warm chest and a sticky stomach. Castiel mentally adds wet wipes to the growing list of things Dean is going to have to buy for their bedside table. If he was to buy them himself, he would have to go well out of his way to buy them someplace where no one would recognize him as a priest. It’s safer and easier to let Dean do it.

“I had to take that off, now you need to go clean up.” He pushes Dean’s hands away and muffles a yawn. “I’ll be waiting for you right here.”

“Time for you to learn the awesomeness of a used t-shirt.” Dean laughs and the heat against Castiel’s back disappears for a minute before he returns. “See? Clean up with your PJ shirt and bam, you’re golden. But I bet you’re still planning on getting something for this, huh?”

Castiel smiles and turns over in Dean’s arms to tangle their legs together and wiggle his way closer. Dean is warm, loose and pliant as they rearrange themselves. One of them drags the blanket back up to their shoulders and Castiel finds himself staring at the dip in Dean’s clavicle. It’s not a bad view, and there’s a red mark on his collarbone that Castiel doesn’t quite remember leaving there.

He focuses on that instead of the thoughts trying to worm their way into the forefront of his mind. This wasn’t shameful. This wasn’t sinful. God isn’t going to hate him for this or punish him for it. This was _good_ – in many ways. Castiel is happy, Dean is happy – Dean is _home_ – and he’s not going to let anything, not even his own thoughts, take this away from him. He might actually be able to fall asleep again tonight – and he can’t remember the last time that happened after a nightmare.

“How’re you feeling?” Dean’s question is whispered into his hairline shortly after he closes his eyes. “You doing okay?”

“Better than that.” Castiel rubs his nose against the red spot. “Welcome home, Dean.”

Another laugh bubbles up and Dean presses a kiss against his forehead. “Best welcoming party I’ve had in pretty much ever. Glad to be back, Cas.”

*

After breakfast, Castiel washes the dishes and let’s Dean flick through the growing DVD collection on the bookcase tucked into the corner behind one of the couches in the living room. Castiel has been building the collection since Balthazar bought the big screen TV. He grabs anything that looks good from the bargain bins while shopping and Balthazar had taken the hint and started buying the more current ones. It was the one thing Castiel allowed himself to do in preparation for Dean’s return.

“Who the hell picked some of this shit?” Dean calls over his shoulder and Castiel leans forward to see him through the window over the sink. “Some of these even _I_ wouldn’t watch. And I watch _everything_.”

“We had no collection. Now we do.” He huffs and scrubs the plate in his hand a little more viciously than needed. “ _You_ can be in charge of it from now on.”

Dean looks at the higher shelves and the books lined up on it. He’s in the middle of sipping his coffee when the doorbell rings. “Should I get that or d’you think it’s Balthazar?”

“He has his own key. I’ll get it.” He dries his hands on the towel hanging off the stove before heading for the door. “Our cover story for now is going to be that you’re a friend going through a rough patch and we’re giving you a place to stay for a while. The congregation already knows that Balthazar is coming to live with me and that’s why I had to build a bigger house this time.”

“You’ve thought of everything, huh?”

“I had a lot of time to think about it.” Castiel shushes him from the hall and opens the door, a wide smile filling his face immediately. “Hello, Sam.”

Sam gives him a sheepish smile and scuffs his toe against the welcome mat. “Hi, Cas. Um, I like it here a lot. Is it okay if I stay too?”

Dean comes out into the hall with a smile. “What took you so long, bitch?”

“I fell a day after you, jerk.” He laughs as Castiel pulls him into the house and a hug. “I just fell a little farther away than you did. My plane landed half an hour ago and I cabbed it here.”

“Are you hungry?” Castiel asks, locking the door behind him and urging them both deeper into the house. “We just finished breakfast.”

“I grabbed something at the airport, thanks.”

Dean grabs Sam’s wrist and drags him toward the stairs. “How the hell did you afford a plane ticket? I barely had enough for a bus.”

“I had one of Balthazar’s credit cards with me. I maxed it out.” Sam laughs and stumbles after him. “Where are you taking me? Cas, where is he taking me?”

“Probably to your new bedroom.” Castiel abandons his dishes to follow them upstairs. He has a few more minutes before morning mass that he can spare. “I’m sorry, but it’s going to be mostly messy. I was going to build you some furniture but I wanted to wait for you to decide how you wanted to set up your new bedroom.”

“You didn’t wait for me for _our_ room.” Dean whines, stopping to glance down past Sam’s shoulder. At the top of the stairs, after shoving Sam towards his bedroom, he slings an arm over Castiel’s shoulders. “You’re lucky I like it.”

He smiles and leans into Dean’s side. “If you want to change anything about it, you can. I just used all our old things for it.”

“I like the old things.”

“Cas!” Sam leans out of the bedroom, a wide grin splitting his lips. “I love it, thank you! I can’t wait until I can make it mine.”

Dean’s smile grows into a devious grin and he squeezes Castiel tighter. “Yeah, we made good use of ours too. Broke in the bed and everything.”

As a dark blush burns into Castiel’s cheeks, Sam’s smile falls and he wrinkles his nose. “I didn’t need to know that, you _jackass_.”

“Oops. Already said it.” His laugh stutters to a stop when Castiel elbows him in the ribs and ducks out from under his arm. “Ow, Cas!”

“Make yourselves at home. I’m going to go get the Church ready.” He starts down the stairs, calling through the railing. “If you want to sit in, you’re welcome to.”

Neither of them joins him, but he has a feeling it has more to do with their desire to explore their new home together and less to do with their faith. That’s a whole conversation they’ll likely be having at another time.

Castiel finds them poking around in the basement when he comes back from the mass. Sam is flipping through the binder from the desk and Dean is exploring the hidden room.

“I like these.” Sam taps the binder. “Can I help you build them?”

“Of course. You can do anything you want now.”

Castiel smiles, more than happy to spend the rest of the afternoon going over the details with Sam. They make arrangements to purchase the supplies and he spends time building a list with Dean for food and things that he wants too. It eats away at the hours fast enough that before Castiel knows it, he’s heading back to the Church for the evening mass.

That evening, they spend it quietly watching TV together. Sam spreads out on the couch under the window into the kitchen and Dean kicks his feet up over the armrest of the other one, his head in Castiel’s lap while he reads above him.

During a commercial break, Dean clears his throat.. “How do you feel about me hunting? I still want to do some good and I think hunting would be more fun that being a mechanic at the local garage. That’s pretty much the only thing I’m vaguely qualified to do anymore.”

“And as always, I have impeccable timing.”

All three of them look to the living room entrance where Balthazar is standing with his laptop tucked under one arm and his duffle bag in the other hand. The grin on his face is proof enough that he knew to expect Dean and Sam here before he even walked in the door. “Hello my dear lads. Did you miss me?”

“Not in the slightest.” Dean shoots back immediately even as Sam gets up to shake his hand.

“That is _exactly_ why I’m going to show everyone the other job you’d be absolutely qualified for, dearest Dean.” Balthazar strides across the living room and puts his laptop on the coffee table in front of them. “Oh no, don’t get up.”

Castiel bookmarks his page and closes the book, frowning as Balthazar crouches and starts up the laptop. “What are you up to?”

“I’ve been wanting to show you this for _weeks_ , Cassie.” He grins up at him as he taps a few keys. “I’ve been saving it for a rainy day when you were feeling particularly depressed about your absent boyfriend and now seems as good a time as any.”

Dean sits up slowly, eyes narrowed. “Show him what?”

Sam chokes off a snort of laughter from behind Balthazar, clapping a hand over his mouth to cover his grin. He looks between the screen of the laptop and Dean several times before he breaks down into muffled chuckles behind his hand. Castiel isn’t sure if he should be worried or not. Dean looks just as confused as he feels, and Balthazar seems far too pleased for this to be any sort of good. But Sam is _laughing_ , which means it can’t be something _bad_ , right?

Balthazar turns the laptop around and hits play. Castiel covers his mouth just from reading the title of the Youtube video, biting down on his tongue to keep from saying anything. Dean makes a strangled noise of surprise that sounds just this side of horrified.

“No.” He hisses. “ _Fuck_ no.”

As best as Castiel can tell, the video is a clip from a soap opera. The man in the video is most definitely Dean’s vessel, though he’s at least five years younger. Possibly more. It’s a little hard to tell through all the makeup and acting.

“So, your vessel was a soap opera star, huh?” Sam manages to ask between giggles.

“ _Used_ to be. He quit after his character was killed.” Dean reaches out to close the laptop, but Balthazar slaps his hand away. “Why couldn’t he have been on Doctor Sexy? _Why_?”

“Oh no, we’re not done yet.” Balthazar turns the laptop around and starts typing again. His smile leads Castiel to believe that this might just be the best day of his entire life. “It gets better. He was _more_ than just an actor.”

Dean actually goes pale. “You didn’t.”

“I most certainly did.”

Balthazar turns the laptop around and this time hits play on a slide show of pictures saved to the hard drive. Each new picture is more awkward than the last. There are pictures of Dean as a cowboy, both shirtless and fully clothed. Those are out shined by the shirtless frolicking in a field with an array of other men while they’re all being sprayed with a hoses. The very last picture is a young Dean, posing in front of a brick wall wearing pants of the same pattern. It’s more than enough to pull a surprised (and not just a little amused) snort out of Castiel and he immediately covers his mouth again.

The look Dean gives him is devastated as Sam’s restraint crumbles completely. “Not you too, Cas!”

That’s the last straw and Castiel can’t hold it back anymore. The whole thing is ridiculous. His vessel’s previous modeling and acting career, Sam’s nearly hysterical laughter, Balthazar’s entertained grin, and Dean’s look of utter betrayal – after the stress of the apocalypse, it’s all quite possibly the most ridiculous thing Castiel has ever experienced.

With laughter bubbling out of him uncontrollably, Castiel leans into Dean’s side. He wraps his arms around his waist and thinks he might be on the verge of tears. It’s getting harder to breathe and his face feels hot. When was the last time he laughed this hard? He can’t remember.

Castiel looks up when Sam’s laughter trails off. He and Balthazar are looking at him, almost stunned, and that only fuels his laughter more. Dean doesn’t look so surprised. His eyes are warm and fond, but his lips are twisted in an annoyed frown – as if he still feels betrayed that Castiel is laughing at something that was embarrassing enough for him to have never mentioned about his vessel before.

It takes several minutes for Castiel to calm down and he sags into Dean’s side more, breathing hard through his nose as his giggles die off. Balthazar’s smile grows again and he closes the laptop with one hand while wiping an imaginary tear from his eye.

“Ah, mission accomplished.”

**END**


End file.
